


Wayward Dogs

by MabelOverture



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Adventure, And very layered, Bones is Angry, Complete, Gen, Hurt Spock, Hurt/Comfort, Not a death fic, Reaches PG13 material violence, Spock & An Unexpected Friend, Spock & Kirk, Spock and McCoy Need To Chill, The Enterprise Family Is My Favorite, eventual hurt/comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-08-16 23:52:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 53,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8122441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MabelOverture/pseuds/MabelOverture
Summary: The planet Lyro has been devoured by an apocalyptic virus, destroyed utterly and wholly with nothing left to remain. Nothing left except, it would seem, an Earth canine. The dog becomes the key to unlocking the mystery of what happened to Lyro, and due to it's fierce attachment to Spock, puts the Commander in a heavily compromised position.This is an adventure story that involves some language, violence, and a hearty amount of H/C as chapters progress. A whole lotta Bones-Kirk-Spock feels.Non-slash, but can be easily interpreted as pre-slash.





	1. Wayward Dogs

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: Kirk + Spock are in love. They totally are, you can see it when you watch the show. They're in love. They love each other like they love no one else, and that being said, I don't ship them as 'together' or 'lovers'. Their relationship is a curious thing to me, and their love pushes the envelope of friendship, but they don't want to make out. I don't really ship any characters in any story as being lovers, which is weird, I know, but I think it's perhaps because I'm asexual...anyway. That's my thought process during the writing of this. An intense brotherhood that incites rumors of being lovers. But of course, feel free to look at it any way you wish!
> 
> I'm a busy lady, I work full time and I freelance in the entertainment industry, but I spend most of my leisure time writing anyway. Feel free to read, review, comment, or none of the above...I'm just doing this because I find it fun =) LLAP

“Jesus…what happened down here, Captain?”

“I…I don’t know, Sulu. Spock?”

“Speculation only, Captain, but it would seem as though some form of planetary engulfment, by disease, virus, or otherwise, consumed the planet so rapidly, the inhabitants were barely given the chance to notify us before the civilization was destroyed.”

“Their apocalypse?”

“In a sense, yes.”

The world around them was in crumbling flame. Buildings that had once housed diplomats, philosophers, citizens, mothers and fathers and children…piles of simmering rubble. The sky was orange with falling ash and sputtering cinders, the air hazy in it’s filtering smoke. There was no sound, no cry for help nor a chime of an emergency pager, save for the occasional crash of collapsing brick and the crackling of the fires. Bodies were strewn in the street, sometimes solitary, sometimes piled atop one another, sometimes depicting a scene of what took place prior to their demise. A man with his hand wrapped around another’s throat, a woman with a knife in her gut and a man in a three piece suit fingering the hilt, a person piled at the bottom of a building with a strip of their shirt hanging from the window four stories above. Sulu had to look away from them, released his mini hovobot into the air, and retreated backwards to inspect an area cleared from the gruesome scene.

“What could have happened?” Kirk turned to Spock, his face fallen and confused. To see such a promising planet, filled with an intelligent humanoid race called the Lyrii, to be taken by absolute death and horror…it was rather jarring. They’d only just joined the Federation two years ago, their way of life curious and fascinating. A kind people, an inquisitive people.

The end of a world did not happen often. 

“Insufficient information to hypothesize, Captain.”

“A war? A battle? It’s as though a bomb was dropped…”

“Unlikely. The distress call we received listed nothing of that sort. They iterated it was internal. A planetary issue.”

“I just…can’t believe this.” He took half a step forward, his eyes roaming over the horizon. It was destruction on every plane, the mountains themselves seeming drained of vitality and the sky devoid of light. The only generated noise was the small humming of the hovering bot, taking analysis and samples. He shook his head as he observed the ruined city. “This is a tragedy, Spock.” 

Spock gave a small nod. “Undoubtedly, Jim.”

The universe, by it’s nature, between gravity, molecular structure, temperature, and so many various factors, was possible only by very specific and almost fragile conditions. Spock could not help but think of the power of The Goldilocks Effect; that the survival of intelligent beings was in gratitude to conditions somehow specific to their needs. That life thrives due to the magnificent equilibrium of conditions made ‘just right’ for survival. 

That effect seemed to have failed this planet. 

He could not scientifically hypothesize yet, not until the data was analyzed and tested, however he could continue to speculate. Something perhaps drove the people mad, led one to brutalize another. For chaos to overcome logic. An otherwise rational people, driven to instability and insanity. Their succinct fall to absolute death—an entire civilization catyclized—was scientifically astounding. His observations panning over the bodies, the blood, and the deteriorating city, Spock was gravely curious of what could have caused this. It was unfortunate that it was the planet Lyro that was the victim of the universe’s ways.The Lyrii were clever. Admirable. Their race had irrefutable potential being paired with the Federation.

Suddenly, Spock’s ears pricked at the sound of scraping, behind a nearby dilapidated building. He flicked his head over in the direction and put his hand at Kirk’s chest to quiet him. The captain immediately stiffened at the contact, easily recognizing Spock’s body language and the intonations behind it.

Sulu’s feet, several yards behind them and unaware, rustled against a few pebbles as he took note of a bundle of spared ground plants. Spock ignored this and strained his ears forward.

It was there again. A _rssht_ and the sound of something small scraping against the street. It was hardly more than 12 feet away, and then again, _rssht rssht…_

The planet, ravaged by some overwhelming and effective factor, was supposed to be dead.

Spock immediately retracted his hand from Kirk’s chest and fluidly took his phaser from his hip, aiming it precisely at the corner of the building from which this noise was about to emit. Without hesitation, Kirk did the same and he barked for Sulu to gain attention. Spock flicked his phaser to stun, his weapon aimed as the noise skimmed against cement. Whatever it may be, it was homed on a planet that was driven to desolation by hysteria. Likely—logically—dangerous. A small black mass moved from behind the bricks, veiled in shadow, and he readied his finger over the trigger at the first sign of attack as it came around the corner—

“Is that a dog?” Kirk’s braced phaser sagged as he squinted his eyes. The animal froze at their appearance, stiffening and taking a small step backwards as if it regretted it’s chosen path. 

“Lower phasers, lower phasers,” Kirk said hastily as he stuck his back to his belt. Spock glanced over at him.

“Captain, it may be deranged…”

“It’s scared, look at it…it’s okay pal, come here, come on,” he knelt down and brought his hand forward in invitation. “Put your damn phaser down, Spock.”

Hesitantly, Spock did so as he eyed the creature. It was not foaming at the mouth, nor were there any signs of a bloodied meal coursing it’s fur. It was rigid, it’s head low, it’s body leaning backwards. Perhaps it _was_ scared…an emotion unbecoming of something insane.

“It’s alright…come on, pup,” the captain beckoned with his hands. His face had become relaxed and soft, his voice even more so. Spock studied him with idle fascination. His entire demeanor had changed at the appearance of this creature…he had never taken this facade with other beasts they came upon. The transition had been immediate.

The dog took an apprehensive step forward, obviously unsure of itself. Kirk motioned again, and it took another step, it’s path indirect and circular.

“Captain, what would an Earth dog be doing here?”

“Good question, Sulu,” he answered quietly. “Come on, honey, it’s okay.” 

“‘Honey’, Captain?”

“It’s a term of endearment, Spock.”

“What is your plan of action?”

“It’s a dog, Spock, not an obstacle course.”

It circled around them, it’s steps slow and tentative, and Kirk thought perhaps it was about to run off. It did not. It lowered it’s head more, it’s ears pinned down, cautious eyes looking up at them. It was flanking around to the left, observing them as it circled.

“Come on, boy,” Kirk rationed encouragingly. “It’s okay, buddy.”

It had come half a circle to stand ten feet away from Spock’s right flank. It was out from the shadows of the buildings, standing in the open area of the square they stood in. It was skeptical of it’s vulnerability in the space, pawing closer anxiously, it’s shoulders low.  A few pieces of rubble clattered down loudly from a wall, and it whipped it’s head around to look before whipping back to keep sight on the three men. Spock raised an eyebrow as he analyzed it.

It’s height would perhaps reach the Vulcan’s knees, and it’s body seemed rather thin. The fur was black, coarse, and likely only about two inches in length. It was coated in ash and dust, it’s head and back almost perceptively grey in the debris. Ears perked with acute awareness with the knob tail docked shortly behind. Being near him now, Spock could see the dour marring on the animal’s left side, the flesh looking raw and angry, the fur surrounding the area singed with wound. The dog’s eyes were frightened, but daring nonetheless, and it’s gaze darted between them as it took a few steps forward.

“That’s a good boy, come on,” Kirk loosened his shoulders warmly. “Good boy…”

It was quite near them, coming right up on Spock’s side, and he looked down at it curiously. Kirk held his hand out in welcome, expecting it to continue forward to sniff him, but it instead stopped a foot away from Spock and strained it’s nose forward. It sniffed the science officer tentatively, looked up at him to lock eyes, then swiftly closed the gap between them. It stood beside Spock and peered anxiously around his legs to observe the other men.

Kirk and Sulu looked at each other in obvious surprise. Spock’s eyebrows shot up and he did not move, almost as unsure as the creature beside him.

“I did not call for you,” he offered to the animal, though he did not know why he said this, as he knew it could not understand him. He turned his head to look down at the captain, but Kirk could only offer him a shrug.

“Pet him, Spock.”

“Captain?”

“Pet the dog. He should know it’s okay to trust us.”

“Again, I must ask your plan of action regarding the animal.”

“He’s hurt, Spock. We can’t just leave him here, can we?”

“…Of course not, Captain, that was never my intention. However, I do not understand what ‘petting’ it will accomplish.”

“Dogs are not wild creatures, Spock. They need love and support, to know the people opposite them will be kind to them. He’s probably seen hell down here, don’t you think? He could probably use some love and support.”

Spock regarded him thoughtfully then turned his gaze back to the animal to his other side. It was still peering around him, it’s ears twitching at the sound of Kirk’s voice. Spock’s clenched his hand, somewhat apprehensive, and made a move to touch the animal. Quickly, it lowered and looked up at him at the sudden movement, to which Spock straightened back up and simply looked at it. Kirk stifled a laugh and gestured to the Vulcan.

“Kneel down, Spock. Bring yourself to his height so you’re not so threatening.”

His ear cocked towards the captain in listen, Spock slowly bent his knees and lowered down to meet the dog’s eye level. It looked back at him with, to Spock’s slight surprise, rather profound eyes. Brown, wide, alert. An uncertainty lied behind them. Spock found he did not wish the animal to be frightened, for fear was an extremely unpleasant sensation. It was, after all, only a lost dog in a wholly ruined world. 

“Offer your hand,” instructed Kirk gently. 

Spock brought his hand out a few inches away from his body, and the animal, without taking it’s eyes off of him, sniffed it. The final crumble of a caving temple caused the dog to jump and it suddenly pushed itself into Spock’s side, it’s eyes immediately off him and turned away to inspect the intimidation that was the city. Spock looked back over to Kirk, who smiled in spite of himself and gave him a little nod. It was not usual to have to tell Spock how to do something.

It’s body quivering in constant fear, it’s eyes darting in several directions, and it’s body pushed into Spock’s, Spock finally brought his hand down to rest upon it’s back. It gave a small jerk at the touch, then looked back up at him. There was only a brief hesitation, then it leaned further into his hand and rested it’s head down upon his knee, as if it could no longer ignore the exhaustion that had plagued it for so long. Spock blinked down as it’s whole weight rested against him, himself somewhat taken aback by this contact. He had really never had interactions with Earth canines before, save for their guest appearances in his Terran studies. 

“I think he likes you, Spock,” said Sulu with a smile. “He seems tired.”

“Quite…”

“We have what we need down here, gentlemen?” asked Kirk as he rose to his full height. Sulu nodded.

“I believe so, sir,” he said as the hovobot landed in his palm.

“Good. Let’s get this dog a bed, hmm?”

Spock gave the animal a few small strokes, and in a relieved sort of comfort, it closed it’s eyes in it’s own exhaustion. “Fascinating…” he muttered to himself. 

Vulcan sehlat’s responded somewhat similarly to this sort of touch, finding a solace in the contact of their more sentient people. Though, Spock thought, sehlat’s were rather different than the animal beside him. Large, intimidating, lethal, teeth that could skewer a lion — but gentle when calm. This dog was easily frightened and unsure of itself in compromising situations. It needed direction for survival. Sehlats were rather the opposite, although, like dogs, they too found total peace in the ownership between beast and man.

Spock had been rather fond of his sehlat, I-Chaya…but as his father had reminded him, affection was a mistake. I-Chaya’s affection for Spock had resulted in the beast’s death. 

It was a time Spock consciously chose not to reflect upon. Had Spock not undertaken the _kahn-wan_ ordeal prematurely, I-Chaya would not have been killed. Had Spock not left his home in an emotional outburst, unannounced, I-Chaya would not have had to save the young Vulcan’s life from an attacking le-matya. 

But this was not a sehlat, nor was he on Vulcan, nor was he a child. This was a canine, on a desolated planet, and it was he and the ship’s civil responsibility to ensure it’s recovery and replacement to a habitable area.

“Kirk to Enterprise.”

“Scott here, Captain.”

“You’ll pick up four lifeforms, I think. Beam us up. Have a decontamination chamber ready for a canine.”

“…Did ye say a ‘canine’, Captain Kirk?” Scotty’s voice asked with a touch of disbelief. Kirk gave a small chuckle.

“You heard right, Scotty. Energize.”


	2. The Dog From Nowhere

There was the familiar tingle of the transporter, atoms disassembled and reassembled in a scientific miracle, and Spock felt the dog push into him further. He could only reassure the creature with a small stroke before the Enterprise appeared around them and they were once again on the ship. 

“What the devil are ye doin’ with a dog, Captain?” Scotty asked incredulously as Kirk stepped down from the pad. The captain glanced over as Spock stood and the animal glued itself to his side. He shrugged.

“I think it was the only living thing down there.”

“On Lyro?” he clarified in a furthered manner of appallment. Sulu stepped over to the exit door and looked over at Kirk, who passed him the mission’s bag and nodded in permission. The helmsman swished past the doors and left into the corridor.

“We’re gonna look into it, Scotty, I know it’s a little odd.” Something that vexingly felt like a rock dug into the toe of his boot and he hobbled over to the console, leaning against it as he untied the shoe. “These things happen, right? Perhaps a nomad human came by the planet and left their dog behind, or maybe a curious Lyriian had purchased it to have as an exotic companion. In any case, he’s injured and needs to be checked over for any kind of virus.” With a mildly frustrated look, Kirk removed the boot and jiggled the pebble out from the heel. He sighed and shoved his foot back in. “Decontamination ready?”

“It’s ready, Captain, if Mister Spock will step off the pad, we can seal it and activate the chamber.”

Decontamination was a standard procedure, one just about every crewman had endured. It was rather simple and painless, something to be expected and something entirely ordinary. Spock made a move to step off the pad. 

The dog followed him.

He arched an eyebrow down at the beast, raised his hand and ordered, “ _stay_.” He had done brief research on the pets of Earth long ago, and he knew specific orders were quite natural between dog and human. This, and his mother also tried using such phrases with I-Chaya, much to her disappointment and I-Chaya’s confusion. The dog tilted it’s head at him, to which Spock took as understanding and his foot clicked down to the bottom step of the pad. It swiftly followed suite as if it were attached to a string that was tied round the Vulcan’s ankle.

Scotty pursed his lips and gave an amused bounce on his toes, giving Kirk a look. The captain smiled at him.

“Perhaps you should seal the decontamination pad with Mister Spock inside,” he offered. Scotty snorted at Spock’s expression as he took to adjusting the settings.

“Captain, I had believed myself to be well versed in canine commands. I must have a lapse in knowledge— can you not tell me what the proper command is for the dog so it shall be still?”

“It’s not the command, Spock,” Kirk explained with a laugh, “it’s you!”

Something like Vulcan bewilderment, which was the expressive equivalent of mild human confusion, crossed Spock’s face as he shared a look with the dog. It was no longer shaking, but still quite terrified of this strange ship and these strange people on this strange pad it had never before experienced, and a very small whine came from it’s throat. It looked up to him pleadingly with those strikingly aware eyes. Spock blinked a few times and stepped back up on the pad, turning to look at Scott somewhat dumbly. 

“Proceed, Mister Scott…”

Scotty activated the chamber lever, and the front arc of the transporter pad was soon being covered by a lowering wall above it. Spock watched it drop and he felt the quiver of the animal’s ribcage against his leg. The gears clogged together as the wall finished dropping, sealing the two of them in the chamber, and he looked out the small window to Kirk’s smiling face.

Humans, it seemed, were quite fallaciously entertained by the simplest things.

“You n’ your dog ready for decontamination, Commander?” asked Scott, his voice filtered through the comm. Spock suppressed an eye roll.

“It is not my dog, Lieutenant Commander, it is a rogue dog found on Lyro. Please continue.”

“Alright, well…” He punched in the sequence. “Hold onto your shorts.”

“I am not wearing—“

The hiss of the decontamination mist billowing in the chamber cut him off, and he pressed his lips together. He glanced downwards. The animal was firm against his right leg, tense and anxious, as the mist settled over them dryly. 

Perhaps he, as a Vulcan, held a smell somewhat similar to the Lyrii. At least, he thought, compared to humans. Perhaps that was why the animal was so endeavored to him. There was the possibility that his height and bodily stature, taller and thinner than most humans, bore a similar resemblance to the Lyriian people. This could be justifiable reasoning as well. It seemed, after all, the only logical conclusions to the observed behavior. 

He heard the quiet murmurs of the so mentioned humans outside the chamber, low and bothered. He looked to them. Kirk’s brow was furrowed as Scotty pointed to something on his display, swiping to enlargen details and draw attention.

“What is it you’ve found, Scott?” Spock inquired as he leaned forward. Something curious tugged inside of him; what was it they observed? Did it hold the key to the mystery of what happened on the planet below them? Was it, in fact, a disease? A distributed medication gone wrong? A fabricated weapon released by a senile being with ill intentions? Of course these answers could not explicitly be told by something as simple as a decontamination procedure, but—

Then something else tugged inside him, and he pulled his eyes down to the frightened animal. Surely, the noted discrepancies, however vague, came from this dog. Whatever had annihilated the planet was lurking in an innocent creatures veins. Though, as he immediately reminded himself, the entire planet had been filled with innocent creatures. And they all were now dead. Empathy could not save them.

“You yourself are clean as a fiddle, there, Commander, but the dog’s got somethin’ amiss. Doesn’ seem contagious, though it’s something peculiar. We ought to bring him to the interplanetary veterinarian to check it out.”

“A logical conclusion, Mister Scott. You cannot surmise anything beyond it’s abnormality?”

“Can’t say I can, Mister Spock. Gonna need somethin’ more powerful than the transporter room’s machinery. Tricky stuff in the pup’s blood, it’s lookin’, which is why contagion cannae be an issue. Come on out, then, we’ll see what the doc says.”

The gears clunked out from one another and the wall receded back to it’s place in the ceiling. Kirk then motioned with his head towards the exit, his objective to continue to the veterinary bay, but Spock hesitated.

“Captain, you are beckoning towards an open corridor with unlimited access to a starship. Should we not acquire some leading device for the animal?”

“Spock!” Kirk stepped forward with a laugh and his hands in the air, shocked that he had to continue reminding Spock of the obvious. “The dog loves you! He’s not going anywhere!”

“…But—“

“It’s fine, Spock, come on. Do I look like I have a leash on me?”

Spock gave a small nod, conceding, and took a cautionary few steps down from the pad. Without missing a beat, the dog did the same. Spock stopped at the engineering console, and it again stopped with him. The captain could not cease his smiling and Spock tilted his head at him in mild disapproving. He motioned his hand forward, silently admitting the captain’s accuracy, and Kirk heartily led them out from the room.

In the corridor, much to Spock’s concealed irritation, the human crewmates were oggling in shock towards the animal as if it were the most endearing thing they had ever laid eyes upon. They’d gasp loudly, shoving each other in excitement and pointing to the canine, the muscles in their faces dancing expressively as they repressed their high-pitched squeals. They were quite clearly restraining themselves from all but jumping the animal with their twitching hands. What was it about dogs that drove humans to behave so erratically? As if they’d dipped their minds in a thick puddle of illogical madness? He was conscious to keep his frown internal. Their emotions were rather palpable. He was so concerned with the behavior of the crew, his normally perceptive ears had almost missed the call the captain had just made via his communicator. Spock looked over to him.

“Captain, must the doctor attend to something as this?”

“Well he said he’d take a look after he’s done with his appointments today, but to be fair, I think he’s as curious as you are, Spock! And he is a man of medicine, just as Dr. Cierra is.”

“Dr. Cierra specializes in the medicine of creatures.”

“Dr. McCoy is the Chief Medical Officer.”

“So I am aware.”

“He told me about the tiff the two of you got into yesterday.”

“There was no such thing, Captain.”

“If it will make you feel better, he expressed he did feel a bit guilty about it.”

“Captain, no guilt is logically appropriate. It was a difference in opinions and communications, as it so often is. It is nothing so severe to be discussed.”

“I’m not trying to reprimand you, Spock, I’m just trying to talk to you.”

“It is appreciated, Captain, but unnecessary.”

“He didn’t mean what he said…and what he said is not true. You know that.”

“I am incapable of feeling regret in things said.”

“Of course, not, Mister Spock…but you know you can speak with me beyond limits of our professional relationship.”

“I will endeavor to catalogue that information.”

“Everyone’s gotta talk to somebody.”

“If one were human, perhaps you would be correct.” Spock arched a brow at him as they came upon the veterinary bay. It was an area in combination with the botanist sector, as both fields were not as active as other departments, and their combination proved rather efficient. Kirk gave him a nod; these sparse talks they’d share always ended the same, and Kirk always respected this. The Vulcan, he knew, had barriers he preferred to be  left untouched and unmentioned. Kirk stepped forward to activate the automatic door, leaving the topic to rest, and he and Spock entered the room. No longer a surprise, the dog moved with the Vulcan in tandem.

“Captain Kirk, Commander Spock…” greeted the veterinarian with a warm smile and a warmer English accent. He was a man of short stature, his body somewhat dwarfed in the white medical coat that was draped over his frame, and his face was riddled in welcoming. He wore glasses that sat loosely on the bridge of his nose, squaring over half his face and framing over brown eyes that Spock idly considered to be one of the kindest pairs on the ship. The man placed his PADD down on the counter and walked over to them, his eyes a smile as he gazed down at the dog.

“Who is this curious new friend I’ve been commed about?” He knelt down before the animal, who took a step back to be half hidden behind Spock. Dr. Cierra tsked gently and ticked his head as he looked it over.

“Hello, love! It’s all fine. Bit of an odd thing, isn’t it, Captain? A dog! All the way out here.”

“Can you confirm it is, in fact, an Earth dog, Dr. Cierra?” asked Kirk. It may be considered a superfluous question, but necessary all the same. The universe was a strange place. The doctor nodded and pushed up his glasses.

“I am quite sure my scanner,” he fished around his pocket and pulled out a small device, “will agree with me when I say yes.” He waved it beneath the animal’s head, but shortly after, furrowed his brow ever so slightly at his findings. It was somewhat reminiscent of the expression Kirk gave when glancing at Scotty’s display in the transporter room.

“Hmm…” he observed, placing his hands on his knees. “Well she’s definitely a dog originating from Earth. She does need medical care, however, and I’d like to see to that right away.”

Kirk jerked his head back in happy surprise.

“ _She?”_

“Well yes, Captain! Did the two of you not even bother to lift up the tail? Well, even then, she hasn’t much of a tail so I’d’ve thought it to have been obvious!” He laughed and pushed himself up. “She seems rather attached to the two of you!”

“Less so me,” Kirk winked at him. Dr. Cierra chuckled.

“Even so.” He travelled to a cabinet and retrieved a leash. “Can’t say I thought I’d actually ever need this for a real dog!” He returned and gently looped the leash round the dog’s neck, to her apprehensive stiffness, and gave it a gentle tug.

“There, see, love? It doesn’t hurt. Let’s get that nasty burn looked over, shall we then?” He took a step towards the stainless steel table, but the dog braced against him and braked into the floor. Cierra clicked his tongue encouragingly, calling for her, but she would not come.

“Spock,” Kirk turned to him. “Perhaps you should retract yourself?” It was truly the only thing he could think of, as the dog quite obviously had no desire to leave the first officer’s side. Spock nodded in agreement. Whatever caused the creature to become so partial to him must be severed for it’s own health, and he retreated backwards in he and the captain’s accordance. 

At his departure, the dog began to immediately shriek.

She pulled backwards, bucking against the leash, her petite frame forcing Dr. Cierra to stumble a clumsy step forward. Thinking his presence at all would be unfavorable, Spock made his way to leave the room, but the dog yanked and yanked in partnership with her incessant yelps until Dr. Cierra released the lead in fear of her harming herself. The dog scampered back to Spock’s side, forcing herself in between his legs and pushing down into the floor so she was sandwiched beneath him. Spock, in turn, could not hide the alarm on his face and his hands were slightly raised in the absence of knowledge of what he ought to do.

“Good God…” muttered the veterinarian lightly as he pushed up against his glasses. “Well, Commander Spock…have you ever considered being a vet tech?”

Spock regarded him blankly.

“Never.”

“Well.” Cierra tugged down on his coat. “How about it, then?”

“Can you not give the animal anesthesia?”

“Well I suppose I could, but I’m afraid the dog will need to trust me at some point. I can’t say she’ll very much like me when she’s unconscious on a table and her last memory is of me anchored on the other end of her horrified episode.”

“How may you garner her trust when you are enabling her with my presence?”

“Well, look at it this way, Mister Spock…” He pointed to the leash round her neck and motioned it over. Spock bent down and removed it, the dog still quivering between his ankles, frightened of everything except his touch, and he handed it to the doctor. Cierra took it graciously and looked the Vulcan in the eye.

“Do you trust me?”

“Pardon?”

“Well do you trust me, Mister Spock? I won’t be offended by the answer, on you go.”

“…Your medical and general expertise in the field of both familiar and alien creatures goes beyond any other veterinary scientist I have before encountered, furthermore—“

“No no no no, Commander, not so much that. I _am_ rather gifted in what I do,” he grinned at him humorously. “But that’s not the question!”

Spock ignored the illogical urge to share a look with Kirk in his doubt of the conversation. He blinked once and rephrased.

“As you serve admirably on the Enterprise, both your morals and work surpassing expectations — yes, if you are so rationalized to hear so, I do trust you.”

“Ah! Good. So.” He walked back to the stainless steel table, placing the leash in a drawer beneath it, and looked at him expectantly. “You trust me,” he spelled out factually, then gestured down to the animal and back up to Spock. “And she trusts you.”


	3. Scientific Stagnation

Kirk rubbed his jaw pensively as he looked between the doctor and the commander. Spock regarded Cierra, expressionless, as he said this, as if the words did not quite process in his brilliant mind. After several moments of careful consideration, he looked over to Kirk, who lifted his brow in anticipation of whatever it was Spock was about to say.

“Captain.”

“Hmm?”

“Would it be detrimental to the ship’s operations if I were to remain in the veterinary bay to assist Dr. Cierra for a maximum of three point seven hours?”

Kirk chuckled softly into his hand. “Of course not, Mister Spock. Continue here as long as necessary and return to your post when finished. Comm me with any updates.”

“Undoubtedly, Captain.”

Kirk glanced down at the cowering dog between Spock’s legs and shook his head in amused disbelief. He muttered something under his breath before giving Dr. Cierra a nod and departing the room. Spock’s shoulders lowered in distilled resignation and he too looked to the dog.

“Will you come on over here to the table, Commander?” offered Cierra inquisitively. Spock released a puff of air from his nose and took a step forward, and the dog immediately rose to step with him. She did not, however, remove herself from between his calves. Spock clenched his jaw at the fact, his lips pursed, but he continued to walk carefully towards Cierra. She was thin enough to refrain as an obstacle, however he was required to step a tad wider to avoid weaving into her. 

“Commander Spock, what _did_ you do to capture that creature’s heart so?”

“I assure you, Dr. Cierra, I did nothing emotionally pleasing, nor have I ever,” he answered in a resigned voice as he matched eyes with the dog. She looked up, her chin lifted, and her ears fell behind her head as they perked towards him.

“She’s smitten!” the doctor laughed, the sound airy and delighted. Spock placed his hand on the table.

“Did you need to perform some kind of medical procedure, Doctor?”

“Oh yes, yes, I’m simply observing this peculiar girl and the mushy puppy love in her eyes. Could you lift her to the table, please?”

Spock brought his hand forward for her to sniff, but she instead leaned directly into his palm at the offer of it. 

This was rather obscure, he surmised, for an animal to be so favored to someone such as he. He was a Vulcan, was he not? A Vulcan, who by his very people, was devoid of emotion, love, and affection. Were those not the three things Earth canine’s relied upon? The reciprocation of companionship? Did it…she…mistake Spock for calling out to her down on the planet, when in reality it was in fact James Kirk? 

Nonetheless, she was now somehow his responsibility, and he tested her patience with the wrapping of his hands beneath her. She appeared calm, at rest, and unbothered by the restraint of his embrace. He easily and swiftly lifted her up to the table, where she immediately lied down and inched closer so she was not so isolated in her leverage. He assured her with a hand on her shoulder, the grains of dirt in her fur etching into his palm, and she glanced nervously at Dr. Cierra as he wrapped his hands behind his back assuringly.

“Alright, dear. Let’s see what we can do about that nasty thing on your side, shall we?”

—————

As Chief Medical Officer, it was within Dr. Leonard McCoy’s description to be informed of any medicinal concerns aboard the ship, whether it be human, alien, or otherwise. It was anticipated that he be called down to the veterinary and botany bays for debriefing. It was all to be expected.

Yet Spock still felt a level of apprehension to his presence as he waltzed through the doors, where he was to meet with Spock, Cierra, Kirk, and the now infamous dog that seemingly the entire crew was aware of.

“Evenin’, Doctor,” smiled McCoy as he gave Cierra a firm handshake. The English man grinned back toothily and returned the greeting. The two of them were fond of each other, yet their practices often separated them from continuous visits. Seeing the small framed man now, his glasses as large as his empathy, McCoy followed Cierra back to the steel table with a grin. The table, which was normally sterilized and void of objects, now was decorated in thick fleece blankets and a squishy pillow that surpassed the one in McCoy’s own quarters.

On this table was laying a sleeping black dog, her face so relaxed in slumber that it may have been doubted she’d ever been awake at all. There was a tight skin graph plastered on her side, rising and falling with the rhythm of her breaths. McCoy quirked his lips in interest as he came to look at her, his eyes conscious to avoid the Vulcan beside the table.

“Well I guess you weren’t lying, Cagn,” he chuckled. “There really is a dog on the ship.”

“I hardly believed myself when I told you!” Dr. Cierra chuckled back. He walked over to the dog, Spock silently stepping aside, and Cierra raised his hand to draw attention to her wound.

“I’m afraid I can’t specifically say what caused this, but it is irrefutably a burn of some kind. The captain tells me it was a fiery wasteland down there, so I won’t say I’m surprised she came up with it. I _am_ surprised she didn’t come up with more! Not another living soul down there. Just this little lost poppyseed, four paws against the end of the world.”

“And the infection?” inquired McCoy as he came to her other side, his expert eyes hovering over the readings on her monitor display. 

“The word ‘infection’ may not be accurate, as I can’t see it being infectious. There’s certainly a disturbance in the regular make-up of her blood, see here,” he activated a simulated sequence on the display to showcase his words, the first thing obvious being the extra component woven throughout the blood’s genetics, “the compositions of her DNA have something extra in there. It’s filled her entire bloodstream, everywhere…there’s simply no retracting it. But like I told you before, I truly can’t see it being dangerous to her. It’s now just a part of her.”

Kirk stood off to the side quietly, watching the medical men converse. Spock had noticeably given them room to work, vying away and stepping noiselessly over to stand beside the captain. Kirk regarded him with a side look. The air between Spock and McCoy was so obvious to the captain, there may as well have been a banner slung between them that read _do not collapse this space under any circumstances._ He chose not to comment.

“Why are you saying you don’t think it’s dangerous?” asked McCoy.

“Well, I say that because it seems to have been in her bloodstream for a decent amount of time. Now, performing standardized tests to advise the rest of her functions, beyond some expected malnourishment and a level of anemia, the dog is perfectly healthy. Nothing wrong with her whatsoever. So whatever’s gripping her blood has no effect on her life function, you see. Now I was given the test results of the blood taken from a Lyrrian body down on the planet, Lieutenant Sulu handed them over earlier, and those results are what solidifies my thought of that.”

Cierra swiped the sequence on the monitor away to welcome a new sequence. It was another visual of someone’s DNA, however far more distorted than the dog’s. The entire chain, round the twines of the blood, was dilapidated. Knicked and roughed away, as if the line of DNA had been lowered through a column of rotating blades and came out the other side looking as it was. Doctor McCoy mouth parted at the sight.

“My God…” 

“This, Leonard, is what the DNA of the Lyrii looked like. The same additive factor,” he pointed to the extra string weaving through it, identical to the dog’s, “but it seems to have a much more detrimental effect, as you can see.The science department has not yet accurately analyzed the cause of it, nor the effect, but we can say that for the people of Lryo…it resulted in death.”

“But the dog?”

“I have no answer to why it is the opposite,” he shrugged.

“I have a hypothesis.” Spock’s soft and baritone voice was in contrast to the conversation taking place, and the doctors both looked to him. He and McCoy made brief eye contact before Spock looked away and spoke again.

“She is a dog…of Earth,” he began. “Dog’s are creatures of a Terran planet, and they function, as do humans, using the element of iron. Iron is a direct base point for the necessary bodily production of hemoglobin, something that is only in result of iron and iron alone. Lyro is a planet that succeeds in the production of nickel, an element that in effect is the source of life for all native beings to Lyro, and also an element that bears absolutely no correlation with the hemoglobin composition.”

Kirk’s face creeped into a small, endearing smile as he spoke. The Vulcan was unmatched in intellect, and it was almost irksome that he could so often solve an unmatched puzzle within the confines of his own mind. To the good southern doctor, it often _was_ irksome, albeit respectable. To Captain Kirk, though, it was more often simply amazing.

“71.04 percent of the iron in the dog’s body is bound to hemoglobin,” continued the first officer, “as it is with Terran bodies. Such an amount would no doubt prove fruitful against the attacks of something nickel-based. Where, perhaps, do you believe that hemoglobin is being housed?”

“The red blood cells…” murmured McCoy, following the trail of thought Spock was laying. They again made eye contact, and Spock saw a hint of remorse in his eyes which he chose to ignore. The Vulcan nodded in answer. Here, where they worked as a unit for a mutual goal, relaying personal strengths off one another to produce a conclusion, anything past or future was irrelevant. 

“Yes. The red blood cells.”

“Which would explain her being anemic,” Kirk added, his hand speaking with him as he gestured to the dog. Again Spock nodded.

“My thoughts exactly.”

“Well, that’s extraordinary…” Dr. Cierra said quietly as he turned to again study the visuals on the display. He swiftly took his glasses off and squinted up at the generated animation, his nose crinkling upwards. “It’s essentially a form of toxin that’s fabricated to attack anything of nickel, and of course with dogs and humans, there’s hardly any amount of nickel in the body. It’s thinned her blood a bit, and well, that’s it! Extraordinary…”

“Spock,” Kirk turned to him. “Is that what happened down on the planet? Whatever it is that latches onto a being’s DNA, it desolates the bloodstream and kills it’s host?”

“Simply a hypothesis, Captain, although I firmly believe it to be a factor. The question of sanity and the Lyriian’s lack thereof is still a prominent mystery. It may, perhaps, just be a symptom within the virus.”

“Of course…Dr. Cierra, can you extract a sample of this toxin from the dog? To isolate it for further study?”

“Indeed I can, Captain. Will we be sticking around the area long? Clean-up, or all that?”

“No, fortunately, we’ve done our job…this kind of mass disaster isn’t something a starship is capable of handling. We’ve sent a message to headquarters, they’ll take it from there.”

“Well good. The dog needs a fresh start. It doesn’t bode well for a freed soul to be left with the damned.”

“Dr. Cierra,” Kirk placed a firm hand on his shoulder and gave him a little shake. “I dare say it doesn’t bode well for any soul to be in the presence of the damned.” He gave him a wry smile and turned back to his XO. “Well, Mister Spock? Shall we get this transmission behind us?”

“Indeed, Captain.”

“After you,” he gestured his hand forward and twisted his head towards McCoy. “Bones. Once you get the chance, would you and Dr. Cierra collaborate a report regarding the dog and send it shipwide? Include the notion that no, they cannot all waddle in here and stroke her till her fur is gone — I saw the hunger in their beady officer eyes.”

McCoy laughed and gave a small bow. “Of course, Captain, sir. Dog equals off limits, she’s carrying a contagious skin eating disease that’ll make your fingers fall off. Got it.”

“Leave out that last part and you’re golden. Come on, Spock, we’ve got a couple of admirals to give peace of mind to.”


	4. The Start of Something New

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to say thanks for those of you reading this. It's a bit more fun and explorative than my last fic, which I'm finding to be just as enjoyable! Let me know what you guys think; opinions, suggestions, etc etc. LLAP friends =)

The top two left the bay and stepped into the corridor, striding towards the conference room a deck above. When the Enterprise first responded to the distress call set out by Lyro, it was immediately relayed to headquarters before they ventured forward to respond. After coming upon the planet and realizing there was no one left to give answer, that was relayed to Starfleet as well.

Since then, Lieutenant Uhura was receiving multiple frantic calls from the base demanding answers. Kirk knew their demands were translatable as prayers that please, there must have been a mistake, this cannot be fact, for how could an entire planet be lost?

Kirk also wished there must have been a mistake. 

They each took a seat beside each other at the empty table, the vents of the recycled air humming quietly above them. They shared a silent look before Kirk called for the transmission. Soon after, the crystal clear image of Admirals Lucas, Florence, and Simmons covered the wall before them. Kirk nodded in greeting, and quietly rubbed his hands together beneath the table. Three admirals on a subspace transmission was quite a rare thing, and it gave Kirk a bit of an edge.

It was not a very easeful conversation. It was one that Kirk considered somewhat draining, albeit completely necessary. He was required to recollect, in detail, the image of how the people had died. Starfleet received the holographs sent in by Lieutenant Sulu, yes they saw the images themselves, however a first person recount was dubbed equally necessary. Kirk relayed all that he and his ship knew, requiring Spock’s help regarding the scientific aspects, until the admirals were sufficed with what the Enterprise had stumbled across.

“And you say this dog was the only living thing left on the planet?” asked Admiral Florence.

“Yes, ma’am, that’s right.”

“And how did you not realize this when coming upon the planet?”

“To be honest, Admiral, we scanned the planet for lifeforms indigenous to Lyro and this sector only. We did not see her on our scans because of that fact. After beaming back aboard, we performed a more extensive scan searching for any lifeform possible. We confirmed that yes, she was the only living thing down there.”

“I see…and what will you do with the dog now?”

“Well…I rather thought we’d leave her with Starfleet once we resupply next month, at the Delta quadrant outpost. So she can be rehabilitated and rehomed.”

“A sound idea, Captain. We will be in touch shortly regarding any updates in the case of what happened to Lyro.”

“Of course, Admiral.” Kirk reached over to end the transmission before speaking his departure, but Florence spoke again.

“And Captain,” she said.

“Admiral?”

“Thank you,” she said, her eyes directly on his. “You had no choice but to respond to Lyro’s signal, given you were the only starship nearby, however it was still a task I can only imagine was gruesome and demoralizing. It is no simple task being a starship captain, and it is one not many can uphold. On behalf of Starfleet and I imagine the Lyrii people, thank you for seeing to this.”

Kirk looked at the table for a moment and gave a nod. She was, of course, rather correct. It was gruesome. It was haunting. It was a sight he never wished to repeat. Standing in a city of the tortured dead, their blood speckled against the streets they had once built themselves, their legacy and their history crumbling to the ground with each lick of the flames, their screams and cries for help swallowed by the upturned ears of the black universe and heard by nothing else. He swallowed it down and looked back up to Florence, his face showing nothing but his captaincy.

“Of course, Admiral. And as always, it’s never just me.” He briefly met eyes with the commander beside him. “We could not leave them as they were. They were a fantastic people, they deserve to be recognized for that. We’ll do what we can to solve what happened to them, and to remember them.”

“As you were, then, Captain. Good luck. Starfleet out.”

And the transmission succumbed into nothing and the wall behind it was once again naked. Kirk’s chair barely scraped against the floor as he began to stand, but Spock tilted his head towards him and looked up at his rising figure.

“Captain, are you bothered?” he asked, his voice mildly something like surprise or concern. Kirk furrowed his brow and continued to stand to his full height, the chair scooting behind him.

“Bothered? What do you mean?”

“I did not stop to consider that perhaps you or Lieutenant Sulu were bothered by the scene we came upon once beamed down to the surface of Lyro.”

“Well,” Kirk gave a quiet chuckle. “I wasn’t exactly ecstatic to see what we saw.”

“Naturally…” Spock rose as well, his eyes looking off to a neutral location as he pondered his thoughts. Kirk regarded him and could not help but smile at him.

“Spock. I am a little bothered by it, yes. It is only human, after all,” he smiled wider when Spock looked at him with an arched eyebrow at the phrase. “But I also am perfectly cohesive and functioning. I am not so bothered to need anything besides what I have, if that’s what you’re meaning.”

Spock gave him a small nod of understanding and started towards the exit, satisfied with the answer, however the conference room comm then chirped as he began to depart. He exchanged a look with Kirk, the each of them expecting a lasting comment from Admiral Florence, but it was instead the voice of an English veterinarian.

“Dr. Cierra to Captain Kirk,” it said. His voice was somewhat higher pitched and a tad rushed, anxious for the captain’s reply. Highlighted behind his voice was the succinct shrieks of an animal and the crash of something clattering down. Kirk’s eyes grew very wide and he saw a similar look cross Spock’s face, and he activated the comm.

“Kirk here, Cierra, what’s going on down there?”

“Captain, I do hope your conference call with Starfleet is ended, so sorry to interrupt—“ The unmistakable sound of a dog yelping in panic, the frantic exclamations of an assistant attempting to calm it. “But is Commander Spock there with you by chance?”

“..Uh, yes he is, Doctor—“

“Could you kindly send him down to the veterinary bay at once, if possible?” Something steely and heavy crashed to the ground. “If the dog could speak, she would be yelling at me quite loudly to fetch him as of right now.”

Spock ticked his head at the captain in what Kirk could not ascertain between amusement or the opposite of amusement. Kirk popped his mouth loudly and gave him an expectant look, to which Spock blinked and stared at him before turning around into the corridor. 

“He’s on his way now, Doctor,” he said into the device. “Is this normal behavior of a dog? She’s become very loyal, very quickly to him.”

“Oh, normal, perhaps not…” The screeching continued and the captain thought he heard Lieutenant Franklin trying to hush the animal. “But also not unheard of. Agh! Calm down, dearie, he’s coming he’s coming! So sorry Captain, I’ve got a very upset girl to attend to. Speak soon. Cierra out.”

The cries and the yelps silenced and Kirk stood there with his lips pursed. It seemed as though his ship had quickly becoming something of a zoo.

It did not take long for Spock to reach the veterinary bay, and having rarely visited this sector of the ship before, it was now becoming exceedingly familiar. As he turned the corner in the corridor, he began to hear her howls. She was surprisingly loud for a creature her size, and her pitched yelps dug into his ears. He sighed inwardly and stepped past the sliding door — she seemed to have been tucked in a corner to his left, where her terrorized cries were quite noticeably unblocked. At the sight of Spock’s appearance, Dr. Cierra hastily ran from around the corner and beckoned him over. The dog’s screams were originating from where he’d just fled from, and Spock regarded the area dubiously.

“Commander, Commander, thank you for coming, here, come here,” he waved his hand clumsily. “Come here.”

Spock inched his eyebrow upwards silently, but did as asked. He stepped forward gracefully with his hands still behind his back, and he barely strained his head sideways to see what lied behind the corner. As he came upon it, his mind a little more curious than before, he soon locked eyes with a dog who was clawing the life out of a wall. She froze, her black claws half sunken in the wall that she had been so sure was an exit, and stared at him. Then, swiftly, sharply, she removed herself and placed her front two paws back to the ground and bolted over. Her nails scratched against the tile as she scurried over to Spock with lightning speed and ducked between his legs, wedging down into the floor with her barks ceased and her ears perked.

Lieutenant Franklin groaned and sighed loudly, her eyes wide and tired. She muttered something to Dr. Cierra, gave Spock a nod, and all but ran out from the bay.

“I am assuming the animal woke from the procedure?” asked Spock. Cierra snorted.

"Oh, that, she did. And she was none too pleased to wake to my smiling face,” Cierra answered with a scratch to his neck. He brushed himself off and slouched his shoulders in a sigh, looking down at her with human fondness. Strange, thought Spock…she had displayed a severe tirade of displacement towards the veterinarian, yet he still looked at her as though she was his own.

“She’s a fiery girl. It’s no wonder she was a survivor down there. Makes you wonder what things she saw there, to sculpt her into such a warrior. The things she had to fight off to stay alive.”

Humans were such an inquisitive race, as Vulcans were, but they were also rather perceptive of hardship. They considered such things with deep intensity, deep curiosity, and deepest of all, thickly rooted sympathy.  But though Spock was predominately Vulcan in his way of life, in the sternness and coldness and hardness of his ancestry, he too wondered the same thing. What had this dog seen? What had it done to survive, and how could it have survived? The planet was in arduous turmoil, shredded of any decency that had once thrived there, stripped of any mutated appearance of organization and warmth. 

How, of all things living on the planet Lyro, did a Terran canine survive?

“It is a fascinating prospect to think about, Doctor,” agreed Spock after a moment, his voice a level quieter as he realized that the only one who knew the answer was the dog herself. The dog inhaled and sighed, her ribs moving against Spock’s ankles, as if she had thought the whole episode she just displayed and the conversation taking place was beneath her, and that the Vulcan above her had taken too long to appear. 

“Clearly, the dog is enamored with you, Commander Spock,” said Cierra with a tired look. “Her procedure is complete and she doesn’t need to be monitored by me, so…” He shrugged at him with an amused albeit subtle prodding.

“What is it you are implying, Doctor?”

“Well, you said yourself you had a post to see to, and you also recognize that the dog can’t stand to be away from you, so…I mean,” he chuckled and gave him a wry look. “I think you’ve got yourself a sidekick.”

“A ‘sidekick’, Dr. Cierra?”

“So, she does have a light pain medication to be taken once every 8 hours.“

“I will stop you there, Doctor, I did not—“

“She has no allergies, so I’ll prepare her meals straight away to give to you.“

“Dr. Cierra, think rationally, I must insist—“

“And really, I think as long as she’s with you, she won’t be such a bother.“

“ _Dr. Cierra—“_

_“_ Oh Spock, just take the damned dog,” came the growl of a different man, leaning against the doorframe of the entrance, his familiar drawl sending a small wave of abrasiveness to go through Spock. Spock turned to face him, his eyes cautiously steely. The doctor spoke in a context of passive humor, a slight sarcasm that was a brash attempt to dilute the tense air between them. 

“Dr. McCoy, please, keep any unhelpful opinions to yourself. There is a sturdy issue at hand that must be dealt with with efficiency and logic.”

“There are two options here,” continued McCoy, ignoring the comment. “She stays in the vet bay, sedated to unconsciousness for an entire solar month, and keeps herself and the veterinary staff safe until we hand her over to the port. Or…” he paused. “She goes with you.”

Spock looked between the two men, his resolve stiffening.

“Gentlemen, I am first officer and science officer. I have duties to perform effectively and efficiently. The added care of this creature will hinder my efforts, and it is logically unsound for her to accompany me.” Spock reached down and lifted the dog, bringing her to rest on the table. Cierra watched him as he did so and placed his hand on her back. Spock stepped away from the table. “There is no part of me that wishes her uncomfortable or frightened, however if she is to be passenger on this ship for one solar month, she must become accustomed to my absence as she will not be with me during that cycle of time. I suggest forms of positive reinforcement to accomplish this.”

And with that, Spock turned on his heel and departed the room, stepping silently around McCoy’s leaning frame to walk down the empty corridor. 

He only made it five steps before he heard the clacking of nails behind him. There was no need to turn around to see for himself what the noise belonged to, for he already knew, but he looked anyway, down and below, to the dog that was gazing up at him happily. It’s jaws were open and it was quietly panting as if they had taken up a leisurely stroll. Spock lifted his head to the vet bay door, expecting to meet McCoy’s smug face, the face of a man who had deliberately allowed the dog to leave, but the doctor had disappeared. Purposefully fled of any retorts or arguments that Spock could have given him.

Spock sighed and put his fists on his hips as he considered the situation. She looked at him with a tongue lolling out the side. Her ears were perked up and her head tilted, her face a face of anticipation, as if she knew he was making a decision. Spock inhaled, he exhaled, and then he continued walking down the corridor, her nails clacking beside him.

By now, everyone onboard the Enterprise had heard of the new furry crew mate. Even though it was no longer a surprise to see a dog walking around, Spock found remorse at seeing the same delighted and ridiculous behaviors exhibited from the officers he walked past. He sighed and lengthened his stride, thinking perhaps he  would enjoy reaching the bridge sooner rather than not.

Though, unfortunately, the bridge was no better than the commonways. He had anticipated it, though, and stepped back as the bridge officers cooed at the dog and put their hands on their knees to stare at her lovingly. She leaned backwards a sliver at the crowd of new faces, but she simply looked up at Spock’s calm demeanor and then scanned the human faces with a new levity. Alright, Kirk said finally, everyone get back to work, we have things to take care of. They did so, but a few could not help but sneakily twist back in their chairs and steal a glance at the dog. Spock gave the captain a look as he came over to him, as if to say _I told you this was not a wise idea._

“It’s fine, Spock,” said Kirk as he read his expression. “She’s gonna be here for a while anyway, they’ll get used to it. I take it she wasn’t keen on the idea of staying in the vet bay?”

“Captain, I myself am not keen on remaining in the veterinary bay and she is not keen on removing herself from my side, so here we both are.”

“What a tragedy,” he teased, the muscles in his face hiding a smile. Spock gave him his frequently used look, that disapproving look he only gave to Kirk, and turned to his station. Behind him, Kirk shook his head and he too took his place at the chair. Things were, it seemed, beginning to get interesting. Space had thrown many curveballs and mysteries and phenomenons at the starship and her crew, but a dog was not ever one of them nor was it one to ever be predicted. Nonetheless, Kirk thought, it was a welcome addition. 

Spock leaned over his display scope and updated himself on what he’d missed, his mind recording and processing the information, and he needn’t look down to know the dog took to sitting beside his chair. Very well, Spock thought. The dog could remain for the remainder of her patience, before she would inevitably find herself bored of the attachment. She was a dog, after all. She would become used to the ship, the ship’s crew, the ship’s ways, and would find that leaving Spock’s side was not such a scary thing after all. She would tire of being his ‘side kick’, as Dr. Cierra had so aptly described, with due time, and as long as she was not disruptive, Spock found no illogic in allowing her to stay until then.


	5. Two Eroded Gears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the later update. Life (and by life, I mean thick pile of shit) happens, as it does to all of us, and delayed me. Mother Universe is a funny lady sometimes. Funny like Donald Trump is funny. Like, you're such an ass, it's grotesquely funny. Anyway. I'm exploring a different writing style in this fic, a style I've seen in a novel I recently finished, and I'm really kind of enjoying the format. And, we're off! LLAP.

The day progressed as this: Spock analyzed the data taken from Lyro, exchanging subship messages with his science department as they attempted to understand it; Kirk signed several reports sent to him by Lieutenant Uhura, who distributed recorded messages backwards to Starfleet with Kirk’s requests, her soft voice a song; Sulu made a brief adjustment to the ship’s heading as they easily and smoothly avoided a debris field of an obliterated asteroid; Chekov kept his head up by a propped elbow and a soft palm, and allowed his eyes to droop for a few minutes, or perhaps twenty, as his daily duties were completed and he had spent the night prior trying to get to know the newly promoted ensign on deck 5 and his heavy lunch of potato soup had put a weight on his brain, and; Sulu leaned over and poked the junior helmsman awake more than once.

“Spock,” said Kirk as the day neared it’s end. “Before the night crew takes over, will you see Dr. McCoy and have him check the dog into a habitable room for the night?”

“Dr. McCoy, Captain? Would that not be a duty for Dr. Cierra?”

“Dr. Cierra’s very busy, working overtime, with the hematology department in analyzing the dog’s blood sample. It’s a simple enough task, McCoy can handle it.”

Spock’s gaze on the captain lingered only a moment longer than normal, then he affirmed the order and rose from his chair. If this was an order given for an underlying purpose, or because Dr. Cierra truly could not spare the time, or perhaps a strong mixture of the both, Spock understood it was a logical request regardless. He walked round the back arc of the bridge, the dog clacking happily beside him, and he strode towards the lift and past Lieutenant Uhura’s chair. 

“It would seem you have a _kivuli_ , Mister Spock,” she said with a warm smile, her eyes stroking over the dog in fondness. He stopped and turned his head towards her, his brow forming a curious frown.

“ _Kivuli,_ Lieutenant?”

“Why, yes, Mister Spock…a shadow.”

He did not know what to say back, and chose not to say anything. He glanced down at the dog that was dutifully by his side, her posture far more relaxed than it had been at the beginning of the day, and she looked up to him in that way she had made a habit of doing, that look as if she was reading his mind. He looked back to Uhura, gave her a single nod, and retreated into the turbo lift.

Captain Kirk was twisted back, watching him go, his chin sitting pensively on a fist, and he exchanged a smile with Uhura. Sometimes, even in casual conversation, her words were poetry.

He sat back in his chair, swinging a leg over a knee, as he watched the stars streak out of frame. It was true, he thought to himself somewhat shamefully. He had purposefully sent Spock down to McCoy’s terrain on purpose. Yes, Cierra was busy, but not so busy as to tend to something as easy as the dog’s sleeping place. 

Really, the tension between Doctor McCoy and Spock was more stiff than it normally was. Their, _altercation_ , was more…assertive, than normal. Normally Spock could bite back any differences with the doctor, as the Vulcan held he and the ship’s duties in higher regard than personal matters; but this time was different. This time, though bite back he did, Spock was noticeably hesitant to be in contact with the doctor. He’d been so the last two days. _Two days,_ and neither of them had reconciled. Kirk sighed deeply, wondering if things had really gone the way McCoy told him they had. The two of them were the most important people in his life, yet they were such polar opposites it was electrically shocking. 

He thought, somewhat ironically, that the thing that would make him feel better at the moment would be the presence of a dog. His mouth quirked upwards as he thought about it. Once the dog adjusted, and once Spock adjusted to the dog adjusting, he would have to give her a pat. Captain Kirk really, truly, loved dogs.

—

“Oh that’s real rich, Spock. You telling me that you aren’t capable of feeling pained emotion is the same as me telling you that I have six fingers on each hand. Can’t you just, for one damned second, admit, even just to _yourself,_ that that’s just not true?”

“Doctor McCoy, if you were so keen on reconciling an otherwise fabricated conflict, can you not leave it as that and cease bringing up that same argument? It is becoming repetitive.”

It had not taken long for this to occur. Spock had walked into McCoy’s office, the doctor looking up at him in some kind of surprise, and the man had stood from his chair to clumsily issue an apology. The apology, however, was followed by Spock’s discount of it. To him, it was not necessary and better unmentioned, for an apology assumes wounded feelings of the receiver of the apology.

To McCoy, this was quickly infuriating. 

“For Christ’s sakes, Spock, not even a full Vulcan is capable of feeling absolutely nothing. Even _you_ have to admit that.”

“I admit that Vulcans are in control of emotions and do not allow them to dictate mental or psychological hardship, for that becomes an obstacle for thoroughly effective work and life in general.”

McCoy let out a staccato growl and placed two fingers on the bridge of his nose. He had recognized his mistake two days ago, when he had said things to the first officer that were unwarranted and impulsive. He understood his position in the event, and that position was villainous. Doctor McCoy was not a man who did not _see,_ as many men do not see. An aware man, an enlightened man, a man conscious of himself and of his words and his actions. 

He was also not a man incapable of flaw.

In the two days following the crackly, heated conversation, McCoy carried a weighty guilt. Spock normally regarded the doctor cooly, professionally, even familiarly. They were not two gears in a working mechanism, but they respected one another. Now, however, he was distant if not steely. They’d exchanged hardly a word since then.

The altercation from two days ago had, in fact, affected Commander Spock, just as it had affected Doctor McCoy.

“ _Spock, I just want to say I am sorry,”_ he forced. It had been heartfelt saying it five minutes ago, but he now felt the familiar fire in the pit of his belly that was normally lit when speaking with the Vulcan.

“It is irrelevant, Doctor, _please—“_

“It’s not irrelevant! It’s not! That’s why I am bringing it up now!”

“Your _emotionalism_ is building to a potent level and I suggest we leave the topic to rest.”

“If we leave it now, it’s gonna fester even more than it has, and I don’t want that, dammit! If you would just get your stubborn head out of your ass and _accept_ my _apology_ , we can move forward!”

“I have nothing to accept besides the clear indication that you are blatantly exhausted, irritable, and combustive, and therefore need solitude and reflection,” retorted Spock, his voice a few decibels louder than normal. He felt something unpleasant poking in the center of his chest, but he refused to accept it as his own irritation.

“You’re telling _me_ I need reflection?” laughed McCoy, devoid of humor. His stuck his index finger out towards him, the small lamp on his desk casting a frail shadow to the wall. “You are so negligent of your own damned brain you can’t even hear what I am saying. You can’t do anything besides make miraculous computations and conn yourself out of what that cold heart of yours is trying to tell you! Don’t you try to tell me you’re not feeling something, Mister Spock, not now and not two days ago. You’re _feeling,_ I can see it in your eyes.”

And then a quick, fleeting memory.

_Look at his eyes. He has such human eyes._

Then Doctor McCoy saw something change in those eyes. It was hardly more than minuscule, at best, a flicker like the flicker of a candle, so quick you could barely register it — but Spock’s eyes, for no more than a moment, seemed truly sad. That without meaning to, somewhere in that last rant, his breath still hot, McCoy had struck a nerve.

And the guilt on his body felt even heavier, but the rage in his belly had not died, and McCoy straightened himself and lowered his pointed hand and huffed. He grabbed a stack of books that lay beside him on his desk, intent to put them away on the shelf, needing his hands to do something.

The look in Spock’s eyes would not be something McCoy became consciously aware of, temporarily blinded by his own adrenaline, until that night when he attempted sleep, unable to achieve it by the sight of an emotion he had never before seen in those Vulcan eyes.

“Your assumption of my emotion, as always, Doctor McCoy, is incorrect,” said Spock stoically after a few moments, his words intonating a departure. McCoy pushed the books back down onto the wooden desk with an aggressive thud, his mouth pressed together, his anger squeezing the stack, and Spock inadvertently straightened his spine at the action.

The dog they both forgot was there growled, and they both looked down at her. Tense silence followed.

“You know,” said McCoy with a soft voice. “She’s growling because she thinks you’re threatened. That’s normal behavior of a dog, to defend it’s chosen master.” He released the stack of books and stood to his height. “But what’s not so normal, and something I can’t seem to make sense of, is why she would choose you.”

Spock looked back at him, both their eyes unwavering, the soft lamp illuminating the sides of their faces, and then right before he left the room with the dog on his heel, Spock said,

“It seems we finally have something we collectively agree on.”


	6. A Vulcan and a Dog

His mind was so cooked with he and McCoy’s conversation, Spock did not truly realize there was still a dog marching by his side until he was halfway to his quarters.

He had gone to see the irascible man specifically to settle the dog for the night, and not only did that not happen, but now he and the doctor were on incredibly unbalanced terms and Spock could feel the back of his neck burn with very real irritation.

He only thought about his options for half a moment, then continued on towards his quarters. He did not even entertain the idea of going back to see McCoy, and he surely would not go over Captain Kirk’s orders and discuss options with Dr. Cierra.

And so, his shift over, Spock entered his quarters and the door closed behind him. Seeing the room sealed, clearly free from any approaching strangers, the dog left his side for the first time and pranced happily around the area, her nose diving into every corner and her ears perking at every sight. Her tongue lolled happily out the side of her mouth.

Spock realized he’d been watching her, almost enjoying the sight of her adventure, before he recessed back into his statured state as he noticed something occupying the surface of his desk.

He came upon the box, gave it a long look, and sighed to himself. There inside it was a bag of dehydrated dog food, a rope toy, a child’s stuffed beagle, two bowls, and a bottle of little pills. No doubt the gift of the perceptive veterinarian. 

Spock lifted the bag of food from the box and opened it in curiosity, the plastic crinkling under his fingers. He then heard the rush of clacking nails and the eager _thwump_ of a dog’s rear hitting the ground beside him. He looked down dubiously, to where a dog was gazing up at him with her eyes wide open, her mouth closed, her nose twitching.

Suddenly, Spock felt very strange. As a child, he used to watch his mother feed I-Chaya treats, as the sehlat hunted his own food. But, treats, however, I-Chaya adored. And his mother, each morning in the rising sunlight, her hair loose prior to being pinned up for diplomatic appearances, would stroke I-Chaya lovingly before he took the prize gently from her palms. 

It was something of an otherworldly spectacle for Spock, as a child. This human woman, each day, in her domesticity, would offer food to a lethal and powerful beast and he would accept it in the softest way possible. 

And seeing this canine at his feet, staring up at him in anticipation for the food in his hands — it strikingly reminded him of home. And he did not know if he ought to regard the feeling with contempt or acceptance, if he should dismiss it or embrace it. 

Instead, he did not offer it analysis and simply scooped the dehydrated powder into a bowl and filled it with hot water, the dog watching his every move with a few dribbles of drool spooling from her mouth.

“You are fortunate,” he mumbled to the dog as he stirred the powder into a thick and hearty substance. “Humans once fed their creatures dry pellets called kibble. Hard, dusty, tasteless.” He dropped a pain pill into it, put the bowl down before her — to her tail’s immense excitement — and she got to work on it. He placed his hands behind his back as she enjoyed her meal, and the heat at the back of neck, the irritation of he and the doctor’s encounter, was soon forgotten.

And then it was night, or so what night could be in infinite spacetime, and on the floor, Spock layered a few blankets at the side of his bed and accessorized it with the rope toy. To his curious surprise, she recognized it immediately as a bed and laid herself upon it. 

When he had retrieved the rope toy from the box, he also picked up the stuffed animal and thought, _why would humans think to give a stuffed dog as a toy for a living dog? This is an incredibly bizarre thought process._ And he returned the beagle to the box.

He prepared himself for the night, complete with a shower, the creation of tea, dressing in sleep clothes, and laying in bed himself. Spock was rather impressed as the dog stayed on her bed the entire time, belly full and completely asleep.

And Spock could not help but to again wonder, why would this animal, devoid of mistake or malice, choose him to be so enamored with? He ordered the lights off and swiftly fell asleep.

He fell into a nightmare.

I-Chaya is mauled by the le-matya. His green blood sprays on the rocks at young Spock’s feet. His mother comes running — and her red blood sprays on the rocks at young Spock’s feet. And his father is sprinting faster than Spock has ever seen him move before, and his emerald blood—

And his eyes snap open and he inhales through his nose sharply. There’s a soft pressure on his chest. Spock hadn’t endured a nightmare in quite some time. He dreamt often, or often for a Vulcan, but pure nightmares were something rare.

His heart was racing and he felt a bead of sweat roll down his temple. He began to regulate his choppy breathing, but as his eyes adjusted to the dark, he noticed a black mass squarely atop him.

She was laying on him, her front half across his chest, head down atop her paws, and her eyes were looking into his. Her ears were drooped back. She poked her head forward, her nose pushing across his collarbone, as she realized he was awake. He inhaled deeply and released the breath, allowing the images of his sleep to scant away. He placed a hand on her back and gave her a stroke, a reassurance. 

On her own, she scooted off him and came to rest alongside him, her head beneath his hand, and he felt her fur beneath his fingers. For a moment he pondered the logic in the solace of petting an animal, but frankly his mind was too exhausted to ponder it long.

It was unbecoming of the Vulcan in him, a thing he wouldn’t tell even Jim, but after waking from the vividness of that dream, Spock was grateful for her company.


	7. A Look In Relations

Spock woke with the dog sleeping silently beside him, her head nuzzled against his shoulder. His shift began in two hours, and he had responsibilities to attend to, and yet, for a moment, he realized he did not want to move in fear of waking her. As quickly as he registered this, he dismissed it and rose anyway. She did wake, but then flopped down on her side and took the area Spock had vacated. It was such a trivial movement, entirely small, yet she performed it with such satisfaction and her throat gruffed as she hit the bed that Spock had stopped and watched her for a few moments. She inched her head back to stare back at him, her ears falling behind her head.

He readied himself for the day and slipped his uniform boots on his feet. He’d fed the dog, meticulously sure the pill in her bowl had disappeared, and soon she was beside him as he stepped into the corridor. He tightened his grip on the box as the door closed behind him.

“Aha!” cried Dr. Cierra joyously as the two of them stepped into the room. “I knew she’d end up bunking with you, Commander Spock! It would seem you’ve taken to her.” He winked at him. Spock merely shook his head.

“On the contrary, Doctor. I had intended for her to sleep elsewhere. However—“ he paused, reconsidered, then continued, “circumstances led her to stay with me, yes. Here are her supplies.” He placed the box on Cierra’s table, a few frayed strings of the rope toy dangling out the side. The doctor tsked.

“Now, you and I both know where this box is going to end up, Commander.”

“I am afraid I do not follow your cadence, Doctor. She has now had a full day aboard the Enterprise, visibly more at ease, and I believe she is due to be in your care.”

“Commander Spock…” the short veterinarian smiled up at him. “You are a highly intelligent and thorough man. You know as well as I do that this facade you’re wearing, this faux indifference to mask your care…well, it’s simply counterproductive. You agree, of course, you simply won’t say it.”

Spock was almost alarmed, and had no words for response.

“Right,” Cierra pushed up on his glasses and bounced once on his feet. He gave him a very warm, very soft smile. “I’ll check her bandages, of course, and then the two of you will carry on your merry way to the bridge and a full cycle from now, the two of you will carry on your merry way back to your quarters. And that’s how it will be until she finds a home. And I know that you already knew that. And I understand why you gave a final attempt to show otherwise, I do, I do. To convince me of your stoicism and lack of affection. To wind up a few more grinding notches on that Vulcan meter, til it pings at the top, and deflate the human one til it,” he made a _pffft_ sound, “at the bottom. I truly understand it, Commander. My wife studied on Vulcan, for xenolinguistics.

So, for you, I will be sure to spew my frustration with you to every soul I see, how you continuously refused responsibility for that dog, how you so clearly had no desire to keep her attached to your hip. And how odd that was, when all the other crew members were boggling and oggling, you, the Vulcan, were not. But between you an’ I…as a Vulcan, you must know it’s entirely enlightening, _logically_ , and quite above reproach to keep the company of another living soul when that soul reciprocates the company. Please, do not shame yourself of that fact.”

Spock almost replied to that, to draw attention that it was quite impossible for him to _feel_ as the man so described, however what he spoke had admittedly been the most perceptive thing he’d heard from a human in quite some time. Save, as always, for the captain. And so, silent, Spock instead gestured to the animal’s wounded side. Cierra’s smile grew wider and he came forward, bending down and peeling back the bandage. He nodded in approval and rose back up.

“Looks clean and healthy, Commander. Keep her on those meds and bring her by each morning. Those things will be off in a week. Go on up to your bridge, I’ll return the animal’s box later.”

Spock gave a small nod and gave Dr. Cierra a look. It was unusual for humans to be so aware of alien culture. Not because they meant to be so unaware, but because simply they were. Many — _most —_ humans primally expected all races to behave as they themselves behave. Not in malice, nor contempt, nor bigotry, at least not the majority of the time, but because humans valued their human ways. It was not exactly an unfortunate or negative quality, however it was sometimes irritating when it’s light shown through.

It was always fascinating when Spock met one who was truly not so like that. It was not solely in the words the veterinarian had used, but the way in which he spoke. The way his head subtly moved as he conveyed his thoughts. Yes…it was truly quite fascinating. Spock turned on his heel and he left the bay. 

Because — yes — Spock had gone to the veterinarian bay with the preconceived knowledge that the dog would not be staying there.

And soon Spock was back on the bridge, early as he always was, and took his place at the science station. The night crew had already departed. Captain Kirk smiled at him as he entered and lifted his cup of coffee in greeting.

“Good morning, Spock.”

“Captain,” Spock nodded back. “You have risen early.”

“That, I have. As it turns out, a decimated planet equates to a lot of paperwork.”

“As one assumes.”

“I see you still have that kivuli of yours.”

At this, Spock turned around from his control board inspection and faced the captain, to which Jim couldn’t help but crack a grin.

“Did she stay with you during the night?” He said this in a tone of amusement, and Spock surmised it was not a contest to his prior orders. 

“She did.”

“How endearing.”

“It seemed most logical in the present circumstances.” 

“Of course.”

Spock arched an eyebrow at him, aware he was, as humans call, ‘teasing’ him, and the captain was giving him the amused smile he often reserved for the Vulcan. Kirk motioned towards her with his head.

“Can I pet her?”

Spock seemed slightly taken aback, his head slightly cocked as he replied,

“Of course, Jim.”

“Well, you’re supposed to ask permission first!”

“Captain, you are the captain.”

“You’re her favorite.”

Spock raised his brow mildly, continuously baffled by the predilections of humans, and Kirk leapt out of his chair and bounded over with a grin. He kneeled down before her and offered his hand.

“Remember me, honey?” he asked. She sniffed his hand and her little knob tail wagged in respondence. Spock noted this as beneficial; she truly was more at ease. Her anxiety had all but gone. Curious, that Spock recognized something as relief in him at the fact. 

It is logical to wish peace in all creatures. Of course he is pleased with her progress.

Kirk’s smile was so warm and genuine as he stroked her, and Spock was again studying his face as he interacted with the animal. The body language of humans was so telling, so explicitly transparent, compared to many other races. The way his face was, the way his shoulders sat…It seemed to transcribe a type of joy in the man that Spock really hadn’t before seen. A pure, innocent joy. And Kirk looked up at him, his face seemingly erased of any past misdoings.

“She’s fantastic, Spock.”

Spock barely nodded, a nod only Kirk could notice. He normally may have commented on the obvious emotionalism being displayed, but he did not want to disturb the look of gladness on Jim’s face, so he did not.

And soon the rest of the bridge crew trickled in, eyeing the dog pleasantly as they did so, but continuing to their stations nonetheless. Uhura crossed her legs as she inserted her ear piece.

“There’s that kivuli,” she noted with a small wag of her eyebrows. 

The day continued. Sometime in the middle of it, near 1300 solar hours shiptime , Scotty commed the captain in regards to a routine engine report. At the end of his debriefing, he asked, “Does Mister Spock still have that kivuli of his?” And Kirk answer in the affirmative, and everyone gave a small laugh, and the day continued.

Then at the end of the day, in the corridor, where Spock stood at a corner fiddling with a wall mechanism, Chapel asked him from several doors down,

“Where’s Kivuli?”

And Spock responded by stepping aside to reveal a sitting dog, staring intently at his hands with an alertness to whatever it was he was doing, and like that, it was what she was the be called.

———

Jim Kirk was enjoying a cup of coffee with one of his junior officers, the recreation room only a quiet hum in the late hours. The officer was young, hardly 22, and though he showed promise in many aspects, he also lacked direction. Kirk was trying to get a good read on him, see what ticked in his mind to prevent him from really breaching his potential, when Kirk nodded goodbye to Spock across the room. The first officer left the room with the dog in tow, presumably to the greenhouse bay for her to do her dog-like business, and Kirk’s eyes tailed him out. He turned to look back to the ensign, but then he flicked his eyes back to the doorframe at a disagreeable sight.

Out in the corridor, it seemed Spock had exited the room just as Doctor McCoy was approaching it. And Kirk saw them exchange tense eye contact, Spock’s shoulders tightening, and they didn’t so much as nod at each other as they continued their separate ways. Even across the room, Kirk could plainly see the angry fluster on the good doctor’s face.

Kirk stowed it away; Ensign Mojav was finally beginning to open up to him, after an hour of prodding, and it was important to Kirk he connect with him. Spock and McCoy’s drama could wait, as if it didn’t happen often enough already.

Mojav finally reached a point where he felt he’d shared too much, though really he hadn’t shared much at all, and Kirk recognized it was a good time to end the conversation before Mojav would vow to never open up again. He relieved the ensign from the discussion and after a handshake, the young man left the room.

Kirk called McCoy over.

“Howdy, Jim.”

“Hi, Bones…” he rubbed his chin. “Did Spock go see you last night about the dog?”

“Well, I suppose that is why he showed up. There I was, thinking it was because he wanted to talk to me. Ha. Figures.”

“So, something happened.”

“Uh…yeah. We’re not, uh, we’re not on great terms.”

Kirk sighed. “When are you ever?”

“Well normally, yeah, we’re not on good terms, but we’re not on bad terms either, alright? We’re for sure on bad terms right now.”

“Well what the hell happened?” 

“Well, he came by, and, well Christ, I dunno, one thing led to another—“

“No, Bones, what the hell happened several days ago? What started this?”

“I told ya—“

“No, you didn’t tell me. Not everything. There’s no way. What you told me was that you called Spock a heartless robot, and while that’s a little harsh, it’s also not the first time you’ve said something along those lines to him. That wouldn’t have caused this riff between you two.”

This time, McCoy sighed. He ran his palm over his face and leaned back in his chair, and Kirk knew it was bad. The doctor looked at the table and gave a shake of his head.

“We were in the mess hall. It was morning, early, I think. God, it’s all so stupid now…”

“Just tell me, Bones.”

“He sat across from me, which he normally does, because there’s hardly anyone in the mess hall that early in the morning, and being the pighead he is, he’s always up before the sun, and so, he sat like he normally does. But he had hardly anything on his plate, in fact I’m surprised he went to mess at all. I think it was just tea and a piece of toast, and so right away I’m skeptical, right? Always, he eats a regular breakfast, has hardly lunch, and has varying dinners depending on the day, sometimes light sometimes regular. So—“

“How on Earth do you know so much about his eating routine?”

“Because it’s my job to know. So anyway, I’m wondering what the tea is about. And he’s running over something on his PADD, and I notice he looks a little tired. Well, isn’t that something? A Vulcan, _our_ Vulcan, looking tired? Mighty strange, Mister Captain. At that time, we’d only received a distress call from Lyro, so it’s not like he was overworked or stressed about anything. So then, after I’ve already gobbled my eggs up and half his tea gone, he absently puts a hand up to his temple. Now _that_ is not just strange, but concerning. A headache? Spock? A headache? Now, I’m a doctor, Jim, and—“

“You’re beginning to sound defensive, Bones. Like whatever is about to follow is justifiable.”

“I—“ McCoy shut his mouth and huffed. “It’s not, look, it got out of hand. I was justified to be concerned and initiate the whole thing, but after that…” He took a long and deep breath. Kirk was staring at him intently, almost hesitant to know. “So I ask him about it, and I really don’t even have to tell you how that went. Him and that damned pride, he tries to tell me, _me_ , that he’s fine and doesn’t have a headache. So we banter about that for a good five minutes, and finally I tell him he’s an irredeemable prick, and he tells me I’m an irascible man overcome by own mind, and he brings up the fact that if living in outer space made me so petulant, maybe I shouldn’t have chosen a space-bound career, and by this time I’m all fired up, so I tell him…” He cuts himself off and shakes his head, as if the scene in his head is too grating. By this time, Kirk knows that whatever it is, McCoy regrets it. And whatever it is, Kirk can’t reprimand him because of that fact. He leaned forward.

“What, Bones?”

“I told him…I said, ‘if you hate yourself so much that you can’t accept the human in you who’s having a headache, and you can’t accept the Vulcan in you who’s refusing logical medical inquiries, then maybe you shouldn’t have joined Starfleet at all. Maybe you should have listened to your father and completed the Kolinahr, you heartless robotic asshole.’” He finished the last few sentences with a clipped voice, the anger clearly with himself. McCoy’s lips were tight in remorse and he looked away. Kirk felt a rock settle in his chest and his face froze in shock.

Perhaps the worst thing to say to Spock, would be that.

Captain Kirk had grown to truly love Spock, and he also grew to really know him as well. And there were two things about Spock that he knew better than anything else; Spock’s home was with Starfleet, and the one person Spock was most tense with, in every regard, was his own father. 

“Oh, Bones…”

“I know, dammit, I know. Shit.” The doctor put his face in his hands. “I knew it was vile the second I said it, but I was in such a tizzy, my fury was speaking for me. And I let him leave without taking it back. I don’t really think that, Jim,” he finally looked up and met Kirk’s eyes, his own a plea, “I really don’t.”

Kirk was still somewhat frozen, but at the look in his friend’s eyes, he nodded his head.

“I know, Bones. But…that’s…really, the worst possible thing you could say to him.”

“I _know,_ I regret every word. I tried to apologize last night, when he came by, but he was adamant that an apology wasn’t necessary, which _of course it is_ , and then I got pissed again because I don’t know when to shut the heck up! Does Starfleet issue muzzles? Christ in heaven, I think I need one, because I can’t seem to stop myself.”

“Why didn’t you tell me all this before? When I asked?”

“Well jeez, Jim, I’m just so disgusted with myself…I just thought I’d try and solve it myself and you wouldn’t have to know what a despicable person I am.”

“Despicable, no…hot-tempered and sharp tongued, maybe.”

“Well, frankly, I just don’t know how to patch this all up. And you know what…if he doesn’t forgive me, I don’t blame him. But I just don’t want him to take what I said to heart…I don’t want him to think that about himself. Look, I know he’s Vulcan, but Vulcan’s have feelings too dammit. _And_ he’s human. And when I look at his face…well. I just know.”

“I tried talking to him about it,” said Kirk, “though that was back when I thought it was milder…in any case, he won’t speak with me. I’m afraid there’s no clear-cut fix but time, Bones.”

“Right. Well. It’s mighty uncomfortable being around him. And the worst of it? I’m still furious with him. I’m furious with myself, too, but, that man just gets to me. I mean, if he’d just taken the damn apology!”

“Well, if you hadn’t said those things…”

“I know, I know.” McCoy ran a hand through his hair and gave it a scruff. They didn’t exchange anymore words after that, and they sat in a comfortable silence for a while. Finally, each of them finally retired to their quarters for rest. 

Rest, that at that time, they did not know they would soon need.


	8. Something Had Happened

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spock? And a dog? What a concept! I know, I know, it's definitely not 'a thing' in the fandom, but listen. I just really love Spock and I just really love dogs. I had to.  
> I'm excited to dig into this fic, guys. My brain has plans.  
> Let me know how you're vibing with this story! -- LLAP my lil Trekkies

It had been eight days since his last migraine. Six days since the beam-down to Lyro. One day since he and Doctor McCoy had last seen each other, tensely brushing shoulders in the supply room, illogically causing Spock to briefly consider fetching new boots at a later time.

So why was he again experiencing a migraine? Spock rarely had headaches, though yes, sometimes, they did occur. He estimated he experienced one mild headache once every 10.72 months, but migraines? Discounting the recent one, he’d only ever had one before in his entire life. Yet, in hardly more than eight solar days, he’d had two.

The first, he told himself, was logically explainable. The night prior, he’d shared a subspace call with his mother. She was sharing the news that one of the elder’s had passed, but, elders had passed before without specific notification. Spock knew it was a veiled excuse for her to speak with her only son without the direct correlation of her simply wishing to see him. Sarek had joined the call, and after hardly three minutes of discussion, Sarek had ended it.

_Perhaps you should remember to owe Vulcan what Ty’lillit served. A Vulcan to be remembered for history, a death celebrated because of the accomplishments of her life._

_What are your implications, Father?_

_There are no implications, unless there is something applicable to be heard._

And so he had a migraine. He and his father’s mental link had long been dormant, but their discussion had not only woken it, but torn a formidable rift within it. It had taken four hours of meditation to subdue the effects.

So, though he did not wish to admit it to himself, that particular migraine was justifiable. It was also unfortunate, for it had somehow pierced Spock enough to show on his features and prompt an inquiry from the ship’s chief medical officer. _That_ conversation had most notably added to the length of meditation Spock performed to control the migraine.

Perhaps Spock had not experienced two separate migraines in the past eight days, but rather one inconsistent one. That was likely. It had been controlled, but due to the increasing tensions with McCoy, it had returned. At any other regular time, the human doctor could never have such a physical effect on Spock, but, because of the migraine’s initial configuration, it was a possibility.

How inconvenient.

———

Leonard McCoy was a smidge late coming into the mess hall, or at least late compared to most days. He’d overslept by setting his alarm for 1500 rather than 0500, because who doesn’t like being reminded that they’re growing older and losing their damn mind already?

So he slugged himself in, his hair not entirely brushed, and he plopped himself down with a pair of medical lab hands who were chatting about…well, he wasn’t sure. Something boring. He took a grateful sip of his very black coffee, and with a twitch of his brow, noticed Spock sitting alone halfway across the room. Well, not entirely alone, as he hadn’t been entirely alone for the past, what, week now? She was there, sitting right beside the green-blooded bastard.

McCoy took a somewhat spiteful bite out of his bread roll as he observed them. The Vulcan hadn’t noticed him. His nose was in his PADD, only a steaming ceramic mug of tea on the table, with one hand resting on the back of the dog’s head. Hmm. Only tea again.

The doctor swallowed and brought his bread down to the table. The sight of the two of them was bizarre, for sure. Particularly because each of them were so bizarre individually. Together, well, they were quite the package. 

But yet, they seemed so normal together. As if the sentence ‘Spock has a dog and also they like each other’ was as regular as the weather report. And _that_ was the most bizarre of all.

McCoy had met with Cagn the past night to discuss the animal’s adjustments. _Phenomenal,_ the veterinarian had said. _Phenomenal, her bandages have just been removed and she’s showing nothing but progress. The strange components of the disease are still present in her bloodstream_ , _but as we discovered that first day, it’s simply a benign thing_. _Nothing of concern._

And being the blissful man he was, Cagn was simply tickled by Commander Spock’s mystical effect on Kiv. _That’s what she’s called, Leonard! How simply astonishing. She’s been given a name. What better place for that dog to be than on the Enterprise?_

How about Earth? McCoy thought grumpily. Literally Earth would be a better place to be.

Christ, he felt just so damned tired. It was that kind of tired where you can _feel_ your eyeballs in your skull, you can physically feel exhaustion on your skin like it was a piece of clothing hanging off your body. It wasn’t like he’d not been sleeping on _purpose_ , dammit, Leonard McCoy treasured sleep! 

Now, he didn’t describe himself as a ‘creative’ man, but, he hadn’t eradicated his imagination. Before falling asleep, to keep his mind from racing into the count of how many different colors of blood he’d seen on his hands, or from thinking about how easily it would be for the ship to be found on a collision course with an asteroid, McCoy liked to make up stories. Little fiction stories, things that didn’t mean much of anything, to keep his mind on peace. A little yoga for the thoughts. And he’d swiftly fall asleep.

Now somehow Spock had a sixth sense for How To Piss Off Leonard, and he was rather gifted in that area, but he never _truly_ bothered the doctor. Annoyed and irritated and pissed him off, yes, but, he wasn’t his worst enemy. He was a green blooded troll, sure, but, he was also the first officer of the USS Enterprise. He was still one of the most distinguished cadet graduates and upstanding officers. He was still, by definition, a genius. If Leonard hated the man, he’d have to declare himself an idiot.

But to be blatantly tense with Spock, Spock who wouldn’t allow himself to feel a damned thing, not even tension…well there must really be something wrong. Maybe that’s why this had bothered him so much. Maybe that’s why those little fiction stories weren’t quite doing the trick this past week.

Maybe he even respected the damned Vulcan.

In any case, the time for apologies had long passed. Besides, he’d already given that a shot. McCoy knew the tension would die down, of course it would. Time diluted all things. But he and Spock would likely not quite ever be the same, and strangely, that almost upset him. He didn’t really think about it consciously, because consciously he disliked the beanpole, but somewhere in the pit of his belly, he knew he enjoyed their sparing. Their strangely benevolent fights. But where the sparing had once been under-toned with a hint of amusement and competitiveness, now it would be with enmity. 

Kiv was resting her head on Spock’s lap, both of them completely unbothered. McCoy wasn’t aware he was lightly shaking his head. Of all people…

He’d heard a few officers from the science department commenting on how they hoped the dog’s attachment to Spock would loosen the Vulcan up a bit, maybe make him go a bit soft. McCoy had snickered to himself when they lamented how that hadn’t happened at all, and he was still as hard and meticulous as ever.

Well, what else would he be?

———

Was this a planet-borne disease?

I don’t know, Admiral Florence.

Well who was the first patient? Who started this? Which region of the planet did it combust from?

I don’t know, Admiral.

How quickly did it overcome the population?

Admiral, I don’t know.

Captain Kirk…I must admit, Starfleet is deeply disturbed by whatever happened to Lyro. I’m deeply disturbed. Plagues can be an expected thing, when the number of planets under the United Federation is growing so, but plagues are stopped. Plagues are controlled. This was _catastrophic_ , on a level we have never seen before. It’s almost unbelievable.

Admiral, I understand your concerns. I truly do. I saw them myself, I saw the horror that was thrust upon that planet. I wish to know the answers just as you do, but we’ve done everything we can to backtrack the disease. It’s traces are evasive, ambiguous. I don’t have answers for you. Some things in the universe are simply meant to be mysteries…

…is that all, Admiral?

The dog is healthy, Captain?

The dog is healthy, Admiral. 


	9. A Thing For The Records

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *'luminiferous ether' is another term for dark energy, which is essentially the energy that fills the empty space of the universe. It's measured in wavelengths per seconds via gravity. My brief mention of it is for sure scientifically incorrect, but I used what I knew about it to my advantage!

“What’s the disturbance recorded at, Mr. Spock?”

“The luminiferous ether of that particular sector is being recorded at 67.8 wavelengths per second, and that sector of data is taken from a 5,000 click radius. The disturbance appears to be, at an estimation, affecting a 35 click radius within that sector. The disturbance is recorded as 99.64 wavelengths per second.”

“What do you think it is?”

“Uncertain, Captain, however we can logically assume whatever is altering the gravitational wavelengths, it is likely no larger than the Enterprise itself.”

“And how far from the Enterprise, again?”

“Approximately 9,013 clicks.”

“Alright, well…we’ll keep an eye on it. It’s far enough away at the moment.”

“Agreed.”

Kirk glanced over at the science station, where Spock was invariably analyzing the readings on his scanner. Kirk flicked his eyes down to the dog and turned back in his chair.

After the third day of Kiv being the first officer’s shadow, Spock had arrived for his shift to the sight of a simple brown fleece bed laid right beside his station. He had eyed it for a moment, then looked over to Kirk with an arched brow as a question. Kirk merely shrugged.

True, Kirk didn’t know who put the bed there, but he did know that dog beds weren’t exactly in plethora on the ship and he also knew that Chekov was becoming rather handy with a sewing needle.

And in the week since then, Kiv had practically become a bridge crew member herself. She’d stretch her legs when Spock was particularly involved in his work by taking waltzy strides around the bridge, seeing what everyone was up to and wondering if perhaps they’d spare her a pet. She adapted and overcame her trauma, her airy and strong personality bubbling through, the burn marks on her side healed with a very short layer of black fur growing up. Perhaps the best of all, though, was that Spock had once made the comment that he expected her to relieve herself from him once she became more comfortable. She would find adventure elsewhere. But it seemed—a thing for the records—Spock was wrong.

Kirk noticed she particularly enjoyed that called the ‘turbo lift’, and her face would light up in excitement and her feet would prance happily next to Spock whenever he made his way to it. The sight of it always made Kirk smile, this dog grinning and panting and practically bouncing beside the always stoic Spock, his hands behind his back and his stride calm.

It seemed she loved the turbo lift so much that she recognized the term for the thing, and she also recognized when Kirk wished Spock to accompany him in it. More than once, Kirk would ask Spock to join him in a conference room, or to a specific deck, and Kiv would immediately pounce up from her bed and stare at Spock expectantly. Kirk found it entirely humorous, and he thought that somewhere Spock _must_ have as well, but his face betrayed nothing.

Today, it was the engineering deck. Kirk looked over to Spock with a smile he was doing a terrible job of concealing, and Spock met his eyes with a mildly disapproving smirk. Spock knew what he was about to ask.

“Will you join me in the turbo lift so we can do our monthly debriefing with Lieutenant Commander Scott?”

The dog, who had appeared to be sleeping, shot up as quick as lightning and locked her eyes on Spock. Spock, who was still looking at the captain, simply shook his head.

“Yes, Captain,” he chastised. Her tail wiggled and her feet starting hopping in place, and as Spock rose, she darted between the captain and first officer. Kirk beamed as they collected in the lift.

“If that isn’t the cutest damn thing,” Kirk laughed. 

“You repeat that same statement each time we find ourselves in the turbo lift.”

“That’s because it’s true,” Kirk said in a tight and high-pitched voice, bent down and ruffling the dog’s ears. As Kirk stood back up, he swore he saw the ghost of a smile leave Spock’s face, hidden before the human could see. Kirk grinned inwardly and opened his mouth to about to ask about Scott’s report, but soon closed it and looked at the Vulcan with an almost analytical look. Spock inched his head backwards.

“May I inquire why you are looking at me with that expression?”

“You look…a little peaky.”

“‘Peaky’, Captain?”

“Yes…a little pale.” 

Spock replied with a staccato ’hmm’, and Kirk assumed he wanted it to be left at that. Well, simply just not possible.

“Are you feeling alright, Spock?”

“Yes, Captain, perfectly functional.”

“Yes alright, but your health?”

“…I have been experiencing a…migraine.”

“Oh?”

“Simply an inconvenient discomfort, Captain, I assure you.”

“You know, McCoy said—“ he stopped himself. Spock raised both eyebrows.

“Yes, Doctor McCoy had taken notice, Captain,” he finished for him. 

“Right…I suppose I can’t convince you to go see him.”

“Highly unnecessary, Captain, but only due to the fact that a migraine is a mild condition and his expertise in not needed.”

“But, of course, that’s the only reason.”

“What other reason would there be?”

“Oh, none, none at all.”

“I am becoming adept at detecting sarcasm, Jim.”

“Just tell me you’ll see him if you need to.”

“I embrace logic. When I logically need his assistance, I will logically seek it, as I do with any other technician of any field.”

“Alright, alright.”

And it was left at that. The turbo lift doors _swoosh_ ed open and they departed, the three of them, their words back on Scotty’s report. But Kirk could not shake an uneasy feeling, something he couldn’t quite place; it’s just a headache, Kirk told himself. Why is your gut twisted? You yourself get headaches all the time, Jim.

But, he supposed the thing was, Spock didn’t.

———

“Well how about this, Ensign Mase, either I bring this up to your department head, which you and I both know you don’t want, or you listened to the goddamned doctor and take three days medical leave.”

“I don’t need it, Doc, I’m telling you—“

“Mase, I’m telling _you_ that I know he’s not going to be happy with the logic of this situation, so you’d better listen to me.” His words were supposed to be a threat, but his tone was kind, his eyes sympathetic. Ensign Mase just shook his head.

“I’m not takin’ leave, Doctor, do what you need to do.”

“Agh, fine, then! Christ. What am I, a soiled potato? My opinion means nothing more than a bean half the time. Go back to your toxic work environment, Ensign, I’m talking to Spock about this.”

“Aye aye, sir. But I’m telling you, I don’t need it.”

“Oh just get out of my sickbay, Mase…and take care okay?” he growled in ironically soft voice as the young man’s back disappeared into the hallway.

McCoy gruffed loudly to himself. Damned kids, keeping their bodies in shape and completely forgetting about those damned minds of theirs. _Health doesn’t apply to just the flesh,_ he’d said to him with a hand waving around. _You’ve gotta take care of yourself, Mase!_

The man was going through some rough turbulence, a message from home ravaging around in that young mind of his, wreaking damn havoc whether he admitted it or not. And like so many others McCoy had treated, he thought that work and work alone would assist him. Well, not so the case.

Unfortunately, he wanted Mase to listen to his advice for two reasons. One: the kid could recuperate, grieve, in his own time without the distraction or danger of work. Two: McCoy really, really didn’t want to have to bring Spock into this.

He gnawed on his thumb as his finger hovered over his PADD, stupidly not wanting to send the message. Oh for fuck’s sake, they were colleagues and their jobs required close communication, it was childish to think anything else.

He sent it. Spock came only twenty minutes later.

“Doctor McCoy,” he greeted without expression. McCoy sighed. He didn’t even bother registering the dog’s presence, as it was now as normal as the way Spock’s boots were tied.

“Spock.” 

“Would you explain the context of your message?”

“Yeah, look, so you know Ensign Chester Mase?”

“I do.”

“Your junior geologist?”

“Yes, Doctor McCoy. I am aware of the geologist in my science department.”

The doctor hoped Spock couldn’t see the deep inhale he just took, but he surmised he probably did. He pursed his lips and continued before the stone in his belly ruptured.

“Well, he’s refusing medical orders.”

“He has the right to do so, should he find them unjust.”

“Do you think I am capable of issuing unjust medical orders?”

“I believe there is no accurate way of predicting the absolute portrayal of any factor in the universe.”

“Do you know the news he received yesterday?”

“If you are inferring to the fact that his sister died on Earth, then yes, I am aware.”

“Do you even care?”

“Doctor, you brought me here for a specific reason, what is it?”

“Well, Mister Spock, the kid’s twin sister, who he grew up with, was _born_ with, is no longer alive. Don’t you think that probably has some kind of mental dilapidation on the ensign?”

“Rhetoric questions of which you already have a correct answer in your own mind are a habitual waste of time, Doctor.”

“Well, Jesus, Spock!” scoffed McCoy. “His sister died three weeks ago and he just found out about it yesterday! And he’s a _human_ dammit, so he has a heart!”

“It is a regrettable thing, Doctor McCoy, and based off the behaviors of humans, I would surmise he is grieving.”

“Well, how shocking! You admit it!”

“It would be illogical to admit the opposite of what is true.”

“Well then, is it true that he probably shouldn’t be working right now? Does logic say that a grieving human ought to continue working?”

“That is no longer a question in logic, but individual specifications. If Ensign Mase prefers to continue working, I commend him for his extensive ethic for progress.”

“So you’re not going to talk to him, at all? You’re not going to ensure he gets the rest he needs? Have you, as his department head, his commanding officer, even extended your sympathies to him?”

“Sympathy in what, Doctor? Sympathy in the fact that all life ends?”

“You are unbelievable.”

“I am efficient,” his voice was beginning to become clipped, “and you are far too concerned with your notion of emotionalism in human beings that you have not stopped to consider that perhaps the emotion of another human does not fit the agenda of the emotion in yourself. Is that all you require of me, Doctor McCoy?”

“Yeah, that’s all, Spock.” The Vulcan turned and began to walk out the door. “I applaud you for your obvious care of your subordinates!” McCoy yelled after him as the door closed. He was once again alone and he cried out in anger, his hand slapping the corner of a biobed with a hard _thwack_. He sat down on it and rubbed his face in his hands, and then like fog in a breeze, his rage dissipated away.

Mase would be alright. McCoy knew he would be, even if he was continuing to work. It was not abnormal for one to wish to occupy their time with calamity during times in which the mind cannot be left in solitude, and as a doctor, McCoy accepted this. But he would be damned if not even the Ensign’s commanding officer, the Vulcan who he reported to almost daily, couldn’t give a rat’s ass about it.

Perhaps he was being combustive, or perhaps he wasn’t. It was becoming more difficult to tell now, because since that day in the mess hall almost a week and a half ago, every interaction he had with Spock was combustive. There hadn’t been so much as a respectful nod towards each other.

It had never reached this point. They would take jabs at each other, sometimes in good humor and many times in not, but it had never rose to a level where they mutually despised one another’s presence. It was as if that one altercation had paved the structure for their continuous relationship, and nothing else could deter it. The train had begun rolling long ago, starting and stopping and starting again, and that fight had been the axe that severed the breaks entirely.

He supposed there was nothing now that would stop that damned train. He took in a very deep, more calming breath, and allowed himself twenty seconds to feel bad about the entire situation before he got himself back up and continued working.


	10. Liveliness is Motion

There was something about the simplicity of hot tea, the aroma of steeped leaves, the smell akin to the warmness of home, and the retirement of the day that held no immediate responsibilities but that of meditation that Spock so anticipated. He could not directly say he _enjoyed_ it, but he most definitely found it pleasing. Particularly after an exhaustive day.

This day had been exhaustive.

He sat himself down before his window and palmed the lightproof blind upwards, revealing the vastness that lay outside the hull of the ship. His room was quiet and peaceful, Kiv was asleep beside his bed. His brown eyes reflected the little dots of faraway places streaking by.

And he sat like that for awhile, the tea warming the skin of his hands, and he watched the outside. He’d intended to meditate, and he really hadn’t realized he hadn’t done that yet, but doing what he was doing — it was a form of mediation itself. _In a poetic way_ , he knew Kirk would say.

Pondering the emptiness before his eyes, and the fullness if it, lost in his own mind, Spock almost forgot the pain that was pounding between his temples. The migraine had been raging for days now, sometimes submitting to a dull presence and other times dominating towards a thunderous roar that filled every centimeter of his head.

Something, in one way or another, was not quite right. A migraine such as this was the effect of something, the logic behind this as clear as the stars out there beyond the window. 

It almost sickened Spock to think that the argument with his father could have created this physical effect on him. That Sarek could have this effect on him. Was it because of Sarek? Was their discussion so antagonizing it had truly effected Spock in this way? Was it because of his human half that it was to this severity?

The tea began to grow cold, and he hadn’t taken a sip.

It was often said that the universe was the way it was for specific reasons. For the universe to exist, it must _be_ as it was. Was there a benefit, then, after all, to Spock being half human? And what, he pondered the most, could it possibly be?

He reflected upon Leonard’s words. 

_Maybe you should have actually listened to your father…_

The smell of the steeped leaves became bitter as it sat in it’s cold water.

_You heartless…robotic…_

He heard Kiv groan and flop down in sleep in the bed beside his.

_You can’t accept the human…the Vulcan in you…maybe…completed…Kolin—_

Suddenly the black vastness out beyond that window was filling his own room, leaking into the corners and saturating the space with rich and total darkness.

_Why would she choose you._

_———_

“Deck 3 to Captain Kirk!”

Sitting leisurely with his legs crossed, almost about to retire himself, Kirk straightened his back at the sound of the almost frantic voice beeping from his chair. He hit the comm button.

“Kirk here.”

“Captain…” it sounded like Ensign Mase. “Sir, I came by Commander Spock’s quarters…and—“

Just as he was speaking, the sound of a muffled barking from the speaker hit the captain’s ears. He switched glances with Uhura as she turned around in her chair, her brow slightly furrowed at the sound. Kirk quickly transferred the comm to his personal communicator and shot up. He ran to the lift. 

“—and I just hear Kiv scratching the hell out of his door and barking, and—“

Kirk slammed manual orders into the lift’s panel so he could hear the rushed words.

“—and he won’t answer, Captain, I’ve tried hailing him through his quarter’s comms and his communicator, but I can’t get a hold of him!”

The lift slowed and the doors opened. Kirk sprinted down the corridor and lifted the communicator to his face.

“Ensign Mase, get Doctor McCoy now!”

“Sir—“

Kirk rounded the corner and saw Mase standing clumsily outside Spock’s quarters. Kirk waved him aside as his feet slapped to a halt and he immediately began punching the Captain’s override.

“Do it, Mase. Call him, _now.”_

“Aye aye, sir.”

His fingers shot through the override procedure, the beeping of the buttons completely mute behind the almost yowling barks of Kivuli through the door. In all her time aboard the ship, Kirk had never once heard her bark.

The door slid open swiftly, and the surprise of it silenced Kiv, who was now standing right in front of Kirk. On all fours, her head normally reached just below Kirk’s knees. But just then, she pounced up and planted her front two paws on Kirk’s shirt and began barking again, her head rising up towards his chest.

“What? What?” he asked her, his eyes searching the dark room. His sight adjusted to the dark and the dim glow of the universe in a square box caught his eye; Spock’s window. Except it wasn’t entirely square, because there was a dark figure obscuring the bottom half of it…

He ran over and saw Spock laying on his side, his eyes closed, and he almost looked like he could be sleeping. Like he’d decided a nap would be rather nice here in front of the unobscured window, falling asleep to the subtle colors of the galaxies.

Kirk could have believed that’s what happened, save for the fact that this was _Spock_ , and his dog was panic-stricken, and there was an overturned ceramic mug inches from Spock’s hands that formed a damp circle in the rug below it.

“Hey, _Spock!”_ Kirk put his hand on Spock’s upturned shoulder and gave him a small shake. “Spock!” 

He heard the voice of Ensign Mase beyond the room’s walls, saying muffled things into the communicator.

“Spock, wake up. Spock!”

He cursed himself deeply for having allowed Spock to drop the subject, back in the turbo lift earlier that very day. Kirk had visibly seen Spock’s complexion paler than normal, had received a verbal affirmation that his health was below par—and he’d allowed it to slide.

“What’s happened to you…” Kirk muttered softly, his face wrought with concern, pulling on Spock’s shoulder so he came to rest on his back. He put his palm on the side of Spock’s face just as McCoy came barreling through the door.

“What the hell happened, Jim?”

“I don’t know, Bones, I came in and he was unconscious. How did you get here so quickly?”

“I was just down the hall…Christ.”

Kirk heard McCoy swear under his breath and the click of the medical tricorder whirred the device alive. McCoy’s hands waved it beside Spock’s head and he swore again.

“What is it, Bones?”

“That damned, blasted, good for nothing headache I damned well _knew_ he had! God dammit, stubborn fool, he could have a limb sheered off and he’d try to tell me that there’s nothing wrong with him.”

“He’s unresponsive because of a headache?”

“He’s unresponsive because he thinks himself made of steel, dammit! I don’t know exactly what yet, but we’re getting him to—“

Spock then opened his eyes calmly and allowed a few blinks to clear the confusion. His eyes slowly transferred from the ceiling to Kirk’s concerned hazel ones. 

“Jim?”

His baritone voice seemed genuinely confused as to why the captain was in his quarters, or perhaps why he was on his back facing the ceiling. Kirk leaned forward slightly.

“Spock…what happened?”

“…I—“

“You deliberately avoided sickbay is what you did, you absolute loon!” cut in McCoy, his voice taut. Kirk saw Spock’s eyes slip back to the ceiling and stiffen, apparently unaware of the doctor’s presence until now. Kiv laid herself down beside him, her paws inches from his ears, and very softly, she poked her snout into the back of his head. 

“We need to get you to sickbay, Spock,” added Kirk gently. “You were completely unresponsive.”

To both McCoy and Kirk’s surprise, Spock nodded in agreement. He then placed his elbow beneath him and sat up easily, seemingly unaffected, and the three of them rose in sync. Kirk’s hands hovered in the air in case he needed to shoot them out to steady a faltering body. They were unneeded.

He saw Spock’s chest rise and fall in a succinct sigh, and the Vulcan began forward. Apparently discussion was not a wanted thing. 

“Sulu to Kirk!” The communicator on Kirk’s hip chirped loudly. Another frantic voice. The anxiety that already rested in Kirk’s belly tightened at the sound. But what could it possibly be now?

“Kirk here, Sulu, what is it?”

“Sir…” his voice was hesitant. “There’s an unclassified ship 500 clicks away from our position.”

“What?”

“They seem to have some kind of cloaking ability, it’s a weak signal, but it’s definitely there. I’m almost positive it’s a ship, the way the electromagnetic channels are behaving.”

“Hang tight, I’m on my way up. Kirk out.” He flipped it shut. “A ship…” he muttered.

“I believe I will forgo medical for the time being, Captain.”

“You absolutely will not, you maniac!” McCoy jutted, his eyes wide. 

“There is a crisis, Doctor—“

“Not yet, there isn’t! You heard Sulu, or have you gone deaf too? It’s 500 clicks away. You have time for an examination.”

“Go, Spock,” said Kirk as he began to walk across the room. “I may need you at full capacity later, and I can’t have that if you’re at half now.”

Spock closed his mouth and gave him a small nod. Kirk dashed into the hallway and he was gone. His removal birthed a new tension in the room.

“Why in God’s name didn’t you come to me, Spock? Do you hate me so much you’d rather pass out then seek medical care?”

“I am incapable of ‘hate’, Doctor, I find your skills adequate as a medical professional and I would have sought them had I the advanced perception of what just transpired. As you may find yourself to imagine, I did not expect to lose consciousness.”

Spock began to move towards the door, but McCoy put a hand on his shoulder and stopped him. 

“Well you still lied to me, Spock. I called you out on that headache a week and a half ago, and now my tricorder is registering pain in your skull. Seems to me like you’ve still got that headache, which I’m now classifying as a migraine, and at no point at all did you seek my assistance. Vulcans don’t _get_ migraines, what were you thinking?”

“What is, is, and I suggest you focus your efforts on the present versus the irrevocable past.”

“What if no one found you, Spock?”

“I woke easily, I doubt you and Captain Kirk’s prodding alone accomplished this.”

“Well what if it was worse? What if this migraine was preceding an aneurism, huh? And your brain bled all over itself, here alone, because you refused to come see me?”

“This vacuous game of ‘what if’ can be applied to any circumstance and deemed negative, Doctor, if you so word it to be so.”

“Okay Spock, but _what if?”_

“What is, is.”

“Whatever.”

They walked out into the corridor and briskly made their way to the sickbay, largely in part to Spock’s purposefully long strides. McCoy growled and stalked behind both he and the silent dog. He noticed no outlier in the way the Vulcan walked…well, he still wasn’t fooled. McCoy practically pushed him down onto a biobed once they arrived.

“If you could maximize efficiency and complete this quickly, Doctor, you would have my gratitude.”

“Well I don’t want your damned gratitude,” McCoy grumbled back as he watched the levels react to Spock’s presence. “I want a detailed examination.”

“In any case, do not extend time.”

“You were dead to the world ten minutes ago, Spock, you have absolutely no say in anything right now.”

“My mind, in a sense, ‘shut down’ to process the Vulcan migraine as it could not properly do so while I was conscious. I believe that is why—“

“Just, shut it, Spock.”

The doctor hovered the tricorder over his body again and shook his head. He switched a few readers on the device and repeated the action. 

“I am assuming you are finding nothing of use,” surmised Spock blankly. Kiv nudged her head beneath Spock’s hand, and he absently ran his thumb over her ear.

“Quite the contrary, you presumptuous goblin,” McCoy snarked. “Your body is weaker than it ought to be. Like your entire body is fatigued. Migraine is still raging. A couple organs seem to be overworking. Have you been doing anything out of the ordinary, Spock? And don’t you dare lie to me, or cover anything up.”

“Doctor McCoy, I am speaking undeniable honesty when I tell you that I have been performing the same daily routine as I have the day we boarded this ship.”

“Well I’m taking a blood and bone marrow sample.”

“Do what you require. After you complete that, I am returning to the bridge.”

“Tell me, right now, do you feel ill?”

“Ill? No. I do not feel ill. As you noted, for one reason or another, my physical body is in a more exhaustive state, and I concur that I do not feel as energetic as I may otherwise. However it is not so severe as I cannot aid the bridge or perform my critical duties as first officer.”

“Fine.” The extraction was quick and painless. “Go.”

Spock rose and left the medical bay as swiftly as possible.

———

Captain Kirk had left Spock’s quarters in a tizzy, his mind darting between his concern for Spock and his pumping awareness of what awaited on the bridge. He almost ran straight into Ensign Mase in his rush.

“Captain!” said Mase as Kirk stepped past him. Kirk stopped and turned, sure to only give him a few moments. 

“Is Commander Spock alright, sir?” asked the ensign. Kirk’s face softened as he read the genuine look on the man’s face.

“I believe he will be, Ensign. Thank you for your quick and effective actions.” He began to walk down the corridor again, but swiftly turned back around. “Why were you here anyway, Mase?”

“Well, sir…” The young man rubbed the back of his neck. “It sounds kind of silly, or I’m sure it would to him, anyway, kind of a very human thing…but…he gave me some really great words of advice recently. I couldn’t sleep, and I just wanted to thank him I guess.”

“Oh…” Kirk could not help but wonder what the Vulcan must have said. However it was a thing between officer and subordinate, and he himself knew Mase’s situation. Not only did he not wish to pry, but he also didn’t want to disrupt the feeling the words must have given the man. 

“Thank him, if you want,” offered Kirk with a small smile. “But you should know that whatever he said to you…he expects no thanks. He simply says what he means. Doctor McCoy has things under control, go on back to your station.”

And he did a quick hop and turn on his heel and jogged towards the bridge.


	11. Unless There Was Nothing Behind Your Eyes

Spock stepped into the corridor. The door had closed behind him, and it was just he and Kivuli. It was eerily silent in that hallway, his heels clicking to a stop, and then, nothing but the hum of the ship. He stood there for a moment. Considered his situation. The obscurity of what happened to him in his quarters.

He looked down at Kivuli. She stared back up at him with her deeply aware brown eyes, eyes that didn’t exactly look like just another creature’s eyes, eyes that looked up at Spock and he knew someone was looking back at him. She was a soul he did not have to work to connect with. They simply were as they were, a mutual understanding that didn’t require a single word.

In the silence and the stillness, he could feel the individual muscles in his body. More fatigued than they ought to be, though not frightfully so. The matter between his ears throbbed with pain, but not enough for him to visibly react. His condition was more than stable; but it was still unfounded. Baseless. Things do not happen for no justifiable reason.

He did not stop staring at her, and with a slight pinching of his brow, began to stare at her differently.

And he thought about the vivid images that he had beamed down upon on planet Lyro. He thought about the citizens of a wise and curious race. He thought about how every single one of them was dead, and how quickly their entire population had succumbed. He did not think about regret in that fact, nor sadness nor pity nor sorrow. He instead thought about how the facets of it, of that grave-ridden place, did not make any logical sense and they hadn’t the moment the Enterprise arrived. And he always knew they hadn’t, and it was not until now that he realized it.

Kiv blinked up at him.

Then the ship jolted and his knees buckled beneath him, the alarms screamed down the walls, the lights flickered violently, and Spock felt the floor growl with the reverberation of an explosion.

———

Kirk was barely on the bridge for more than ten minutes when the entire ship shook with rage, the deck rumbling violently beneath his feet and tossing his frame into the communications console. He yelled for Chekov to throw the shields up, the sound of the explosion almost drowning his voice, but the shock in the order was heard and mutualized by all. Where, how, why, _who?_

“Sulu, report!” managed Kirk as he fumbled to his feet and grasped the captain’s chair. The helmsman lifted himself to his scanner, his eyes flitting across it rapidly.

“Sir, it was a photon torpedo blast, decks 6 and 7 are hit, back by the stern.”

“No immediate casualties reported, Captain,” interjected Uhura quickly, her hand up to her earpiece. Kirk nodded as the tremors of the ship steadied. It was still again. Kirk’s eyes dissected the view screen, searching, but he saw nothing. An attack from the invisible.

“That ship?” he guessed with a huff. Everyone sat in silence as they awaited clarity, but Uhura spoke again after several moments of silence.

“It’s Klingon, sir,” she said, her voice flat. Kirk whirled around to look at her.

“What?”

“I just intercepted their comms…it’s Klingon.”

“What in God’s name are the Klingons doing out here? Sulu, what’s their position?”

Just then a ship, seeming to come out from behind a star-dropped curtain, floated before them on the view screen. It’s hull seemed to be made of steel scales, the jagged wings of the body pointing outwards and down like a bloodthirsty bird of prey, hunting and ready to snap the rabbit’s neck. Kirk straightened himself and snapped his fingers at Uhura absently.

“Lieutenant…”

“They’re already hailing us, sir…”

“On screen, on screen, ship’s channel.”

And then there was a Klingon. Something icy shivered down Kirk’s spine.

“Captain Kirk of the USS Enterprise,” snarled the Klingon. Kirk’s face hardened.

“Commodore Barot, you have broken the Alliance peace treaty with your attack on this Federation ship, you have flippantly disregarded section 1A which transparently states your trespassing of the neutral zone, and therefore have declared—“

“On the contrary, Captain,” he hissed, his lip curling. “You and your ship have stolen goods of the Klingon Empire. We have retaliated in defense of this reprehensible act.”

“What kind of sh—“ he bit his lip and growled in his throat. “What are you trying to pull, Barot? We have no stolen goods, there is nothing of yours we could possibly want.”

“Save us both the time, Captain. Save us war. Or I will destroy your ship— _justly—_ and your face will go down in history as a traitor to the Federation. You will be responsible for the loss of 400 lives, you will be the person their families damn in their prayers while they grieve, and your selfishness will overcome any obscene accomplishments prior to the destruction that you are about to face.”

“Commodore Barot, you are speaking as if you are the offense. May I remind you of the rogue Klingon cargo carrier that dared drift past the neutral zone and point their weapons at a Federation ship, or do you recall?”

The Klingon’s face twitched in fury and he glared at Kirk through his brow.

“Leave,” Kirk said in a fervent whisper. “Turn around. Do not trespass those barriers again.”

“Unfortunately for you, _Captain,_ my sensors can detect our stolen weapon. My sensors can detect the loss of your shields. Your lies are pointless.”

“ _What weapon_ are you _talking about?”_ clipped Kirk, his hands hitting the top of the chair he leaned against with every word. 

“You are telling me you will not relinquish what you’ve taken?”

“I have nothing to return, _Barot.”_

The Klingon did not seem disappointed to hear the continuous denial, and Kirk knew his words meant nothing. Barot’s cold eyes did not leave Kirk’s when he said, in a hideous mutter,

“Fire it all.”

And the Klingon’s face disappeared and the ship was pummeled with wave after wave of ricocheting blasts, the entire bridge quaking as if a celestial being reached down and shook it like a trivial packet of sugar, and the very air itself seemed to vibrate. Kirk heard the shouts of the crew, their fight to stay upright absolutely futile, and he himself fell down to the floor with a hard _thwack_. He clamored right back up, his hands gripping the captain’s chair like a lifeline, attempting as he could to fire back, but the bridge itself was the Klingon’s target and the blasts were too great and too frequent to give him time to stand. 

They were unprepared…they didn’t know…Klingons, an enemy, was the last thing they expected to see out here…

And for a brief, terrifying moment, Kirk thought his crew was lost. The Klingons did not have enough fire power to rip the entire ship apart, no, but if they had the bridge, they had the ship. The men and women he so cherished, who he cared more for than anything in the universe, would be dead. Utterly and thoroughly destroyed, just like that planet. 

Every single one of them.

And then it stopped as quickly as it began, and in order to see, Kirk swiped away the blood running into his eye and leapt over to the command console ready to punch in his retaliation while he still could—

And the Klingon came back on screen and stared at him with a look of confusion and malice.

“Where are you sending it?”

“ _Commodore Barot, you absolute maniac…!”_ Kirk yelled out in outrage, his face contorted with both blood and hatred. “ _You’ve lost your goddamned mind if you think I have anything of yours or if you think you’re going to kill my crew over it!”_ His voice reached a volume louder than he’d reached in a long time. The engineering console sparked behind him and hissed. Kirk’s eyes were venomous. The Klingon opened his mouth, beginning to say,

“There is—“ but then a voice behind the Klingon, presumably one of his own crew, cut in, “Commodore, they’ve gone to lightspeed! We’re losing the signal!”

And the Klingon met Kirk’s eyeline one last time, their gazes locked, and the transmission was suddenly cut. The Bird of Prey was visible for hardly a second before it zapped away.

Kirk was frozen in shock for a moment. The crew members rustled on the ground, some lifting themselves, others helping the ones who needed it. Kirk blinked and fully registered the blood running down into his eye, and then his body was no longer frozen. He wiped away the red liquid and looked around at his officers. Chekov was unconscious on the floor, Sulu’s arm was limp at his side but his other arm was attempting to rouse the young man, Uhura was all the way over by the science station, shaking but seemingly unharmed, Marques’ hand was trembling as she tried to hush the crackling engineering console, and Kirk himself felt the familiar pressure on the side of his head that hinted towards a mild concussion.

He heard static come from his command chair comm, then Doctor McCoy’s voice.

“Jim! What the hell is happening up there!”

“Bones…we, we were just attacked by the Klingons. I need a med team up here, Bones, I’ve got injured officers.”

“I heard the transmission, but the _Klingons?!_ What in Mary are they doing out here? What’d they attack for?”

“I don’t know, Bones! Just get up here, _please_ , stat.”

“Five minutes.”

Kirk huffed and rested himself against the chair as his adrenaline slowed. He called out to Sulu, but the helmsman just shook his head as his attempts to wake Chekov failed. It wasn’t more than three minutes before McCoy burst through the door with two nurses in tow.

Chapel was able to wake the navigator with a shot of a hypo, and Kirk’s shoulders loosened at the sight of his opened eyes. McCoy sent Chapel back to medical with both Sulu and Chekov, checked the rest of the bridge over, and then the older man stepped up to stand beside Kirk. He ran a tired hand over his face.

“I’m gonna need to check that out,” he said with a nod towards Kirk’s head. Kirk just nodded. He felt McCoy’s eyes run him over.

“Spock already go check out the hit decks?” McCoy guessed. Kirk turned to look at him with a scrunched brow.

“What do you mean? He was with you.”

“No, he said he was coming up to the bridge.”

Kirk kept eye contact for several moments before hitting his comm button. 

“Kirk to Spock.”

There was no reply. Kirk pursed his lips as he channeled the comm to Spock’s quarters.

“Kirk to Spock.”

There was no reply. He was about to channel the comm ship wide, thinking perhaps the Vulcan had been caught somewhere in the middle of the ship when it was rocked with the blasts, but then he heard Uhura’s voice, attempting to remain placid but holding a twinge of haste, relaying,

“Captain…a shuttlecraft has just been registered as missing.”

It was like the clap of thunder. As if a net filled with boulders was lowered into his stomach. The realization hit Kirk quicker than he could take his next breath, like the string of an instrument strummed with a single finger, the noise coming down upon him in less than a blink, and he knew. The scattered pieces of what he once thought were separate puzzles, magnetizing together to form a sickening picture he couldn’t have before imagined or guessed. Kirk knew.

And he looked over at McCoy, and the doctor took a step back at the look in his eyes, and asked,

“What, Jim? What? What?”

Oh, dammit. Deep, deep resignation lined the captain’s body. Oh, _dammit_. Kirk felt like he needed to vomit, and McCoy put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a little shake, because then, with a look at Kirk’s face, the doctor knew too, but he didn’t want to know, and he wanted Kirk to say something different to him than what he feared he would, and he asked him in hopes for a different answer,

“What is it, Jim? What? _What_?”

What?


	12. Remarks of the Self-Buried

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...it's been a few weeks. I normally update bi-daily or so, so I know this was a little longer, but I do promise it's purely because my workload has exploded! I just have a ridiculous mountain of things need done, so Wayward Dogs had to be put on the back burner. I will finish this story, don't you worry your pants -- I'm so, very excited for this story. I hope you all enjoy the ride <3 LLAP

“Life-support functions…normal,” he catalogued quietly into the databanks. “Gravitational adjustments at warp 4…normal.” He flipped a switch and swiped to a new screen, the dim blueness of the display hitting the soft shadows of his face.

“Shuttlecraft’s compositional materials and structure remaining…” he scanned his eyes over the data, “firm and durable. Commendations to Lieutenant Commander Scott for his remarkable construction of the Galileo.”

It seemed only professional to record the progress of the engineer’s brainwork project. The Galileo, once a regular observational shuttlecraft, now converted to the first federation stuntship with warp capabilities. They had not yet tested the machine at absolute warp, and now that he himself was doing so, sending the progress report back to the Enterprise was only just.

It would not reach them in some time. The communication channels were not synced for interwarp communication, but Spock surmised that given the circumstances, this was actually for the best. So he sent the reports backwards through a radiowave channel, something implemented into the Galileo for rudimentary purposes, and estimated it would reach them in 14.64 solar days from this distance. 

It was silent in that small shuttlecraft. The air so close together, it was like echoes were only fiction. The lights were on 30 percent to give back a minuscule amount of power into oxygen support. He would have left the oxygen levels to the minimum setting, as he himself could last with little air until he reached wherever or whoever he was inevitably headed for, but the Terran canine, however…she likely preferred the levels at a more tolerable level.

His feet were firm against the deck and his back straight in the chair as he recorded his data, and Kivuli was sitting right beside him. She leaned her head into the side of his thigh, alert and quiet as if she were aware of their precarious situation. 

Spock knew who was hunting the Galileo. He was quite aware of the predatory chase undoubtedly giving way. Logically, he assumed the moment the Klingons recognized that that which they searched for was no longer onboard the Enterprise, they would halt their assault on the spaceship and immediately launch after what they sought. The weapon they had created, had manipulated, had deliberately forced into being the single most deadly weapon the Klingons had ever before birthed, all while intimately knowing the absolute magnitude of this weapon and the rich effectiveness of which it was capable.

Spock reached down and gave a small stroke to the back of the weapon’s neck, her fur sprouting between his fingers. 

The Galileo was simply a prototype of the experimental warp engine, which was small enough to be carried by the lightweight ship, but it could barely whirr up to warp four. Klingons were capable of warp five. He would evade as long as possible, but he knew he could do no longer than that. 

The kindred corner of his spirit hoped no one was injured during the attack while Spock was preparing the Galileo. Spock had realized what Kiv was in the corridor outside of sickbay, and then after the second blast to the ship, he realized who created her. And, ultimately, who was responsible for the utter desolation of an entire civilization.

His hypothesis was confirmed when Commodore Barot’s harsh voice filtered through the ship’s comms. He had run— sprinted, in fact— to the shuttlecraft hanger as the tense conversation between the Commodore and the Captain took place. The configuration for takeoff was much more difficult when the Enterprise was jolted with attacks, blasts far more aggressive and purposeful than before. Blasts with the intent to kill rather than gain attention. Time was depleting. 

It was somewhat difficult to specifically remember what actions he had taken to accomplish takeoff successfully, for he was running off of haste and adrenaline and his brain and his body were so connected in movement there was no time for distinction. He simply followed what ran on an endless loop in his mind, what lifted the marionette strings of his body and executed the necessary actions to succeed that thunderous thought; _get away from the ship get away from the ship get away from the ship._

And then the hanger bay doors opened, and he thrust the engine forward, and get away from the ship he had.

And just as he hypothesized, as he _wanted_ , the Klingons did too. 

And the breath of their Bird of Prey was so hot, their increasingly closing presence so poignant, it was like he could feel it on the back of his very neck.


	13. Fear the Noise

Spock had gone to warp first. The Klingons, second. Shortly after, but yet still with so much lingering time in between, the Enterprise came third. 

“How can you be so sure of all this, Jim?” exasperated McCoy, his hand swiping through the air. Kirk shook his head.

“It’s simply logical, Bones. It just is.”

“But a dog? An earth dog? Why would the Klingons choose _that_ , of all things, to use as the base for their weapon?”

“Do I look like a Klingon, McCoy? I don’t know why. Maybe to pin blame on humans, or to throw the Federation off their scent. I don’t know. But I do know that the Klingon empire is responsible for the genocide of an entire race.”

“Jesus, Jim…do you know what you’re saying?”

“Oh, I know.”

“ _War_.”

“I know.”

They fell into silence. The weight of the word was as heavy as gravity itself. Finally McCoy spoke again.

“Spock?” he asked dismally. 

“I won’t leave him.”

McCoy nodded. He pursed his lips and looked down to the tile beneath his feet. They’d been playing chase for almost an hour. When Jim had given him that look, right before they went to warp themselves, right after the Galileo was registered as missing…well, McCoy could see the answer to his question in his eyes. What? McCoy had asked. Spock is gone, Kirk’s eyes answered. He is in a shuttlecraft, he is being hunted by a warship, and he is gone.

Then those hazel eyes hardened, and oh did anger fill them, because first Barot tried to kill his ship and now he was going to try and kill his greatest friend and it simply was not allowed. McCoy had many questions, drifting thoughts that couldn’t settle for they didn’t seem to connect to one another. Why Lyro? Why a dog? Why _that_ dog? Why commit genocide in the first place?

But with a look at Kirk, he knew the answers didn’t really matter anyhow. Kirk didn’t care about the specifics, didn’t care about the motivation or the logistics or the execution of it all. What mattered was that it had happened and it was the Klingons who did it. And two things would happen if and when they found the Galileo…

The catastrophic weapon they produced would be right back in their possession. 

They would find Spock.

Neither was acceptable. 

“You do understand,” started McCoy with a gravelly voice, “that we likely will not reach Spock before the Klingons do.”

“I do understand that.”

McCoy said nothing more and inhaled deeply. Kirk was sitting tall in his captain’s chair, his fingers cupping his chin as he stared intensely out the view screen. They were silent again before it was Kirk’s turn to speak first.

“I must try, Bones. We’re at warp 8, and logically, Spock is probably at 4 and the Klingons 5. We may be last in this chase, but we are the fastest. I have to find him first. I have to.”

Though he inwardly thought otherwise, McCoy outwardly tried to give himself and his captain some console. “They may not kill him, Jim.”

Silence came again, and McCoy thought Kirk would not add to this. Perhaps he was convincing himself of the thought as well. But then after several moments, he did speak, and suddenly McCoy did not think what he just said was such a solace anymore. Kirk continued to stare out to the stars with his eyes stone and unmoving.

“There are worse things than death.”

———

It was not often that Spock stopped to truly appreciate the magnificence of the insides of the universe. He understood the beauty of it, the magnitude of it, the richness of it. However, understanding and feeling magnificence were two different things. And he hadn’t truly realized that before. 

Somehow, sitting with his back against the wall on the starboard side of the little shuttlecraft, the warmth of a dog right beside him, her coat pressed beneath his hand…this was what made realize that he’d never really recognized his own marvel before. 

After setting his course, which essentially was just straight, Spock found no reason to continue sitting in that chair. Or rather, Kivuli was on the ground and he thought joining her seemed appealing. So he sat against the wall, and she curled up right beside him. 

She truly was a magnificent creature. 

In the short weeks she was with him, Spock found he consciously enjoyed her company. He really, truly liked having her near, and this was a sensation foreign to him. Though, a corner of his mind reminded him of a similar feeling when working with James Kirk. A bemused part of him thought the captain would give him a smirk at the admission of comparing him with a dog.

Spock knew he would not see James Kirk again. He also knew his time was limited. There was one escape pod, tucked away in the back of the shuttlecraft, and fortunately for Spock, the pod’s door slide open identically to the turbo lift’s door - even the sound was a clone - and even more fortunately, the pod shared the same computer voice with the lift. It was not difficult to use the word ‘turbo lift’ as a command for Kiv, and she efficiently learned what Spock wanted after only 25 minutes of exercises. 

He blinked slowly as he ran his thumb over her head. She was at his side every minute of every day for almost two solar weeks, an impressive amount of time, and not once did Spock feel aware of himself while he was with her. She never made snide comments about his Vulcan heritage. He never felt energy emitting off her that screamed the phrase _we don’t want you here_. Being in her presence was starkly different than being in the presence of many, and even more so, Spock felt a tingle of belonging with her. Like she somehow made him feel more whole. Spock found he did not wish to separate from her. 

He heard the scream of an incoming torpedo, and his mind thought nothing. He only took action. His arms mindlessly gathered Kivuli and he practically leapt into his chair and his weight on the seat barely gave enough time for the automatic belt to wrap around his waist and suddenly he saw darkness.

He saw darkness, his mind was floating away, but he felt the pressure of his hands gripping the dog as tightly as possible and the Galileo lurched.


	14. Introduction to Nothingness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PG13 material violence, though nothing beyond what was in my last fic, and really not that bad (in my opinion) anyway. Putting it out there regardless for whomever. Thank you for sticking with me, I treasure every single one of you <3 Quote at the end of the chapter is from a lecture by Alan Watts.

Ringing in his ears.

Nudge.

Ringing.

Fiercer.

Ringing.

Nudge, push.

Every muscle in his body ached, something screamed into his ribcage, every cell of his flesh begged him not to move a muscle, the ringing in his ears was deafening. _Don’t move, fall back into the silence, silence is not conducive to pain…falling back —_

_Nudge_.

Spock slowly opened his eyes, and his vision shuttered with hazy ribbons. It took several blinks to clear his sight and he wondered if the flickering red lights also were a side effect of his faltering vision, but as his mind continued to waken, he realized they were not. A small fire danced on the far side of the shuttlecraft, the licking flames in contrast to the darkness. Only the moonlight, raining down from the shredded roof, was a filler to the black night.

Moonlight?

Kiv nudged him again, and Spock took in a sharp inhale. He swallowed his confusion and ignored the shouts of his body as her head moved to obscure his view of the small fire.

“Kivuli…” he croaked softly. She nudged him again.

That last nudge woken something else in him, the memory of the missile, and he jerked himself upright but immediately cried out in pain. The dog whimpered quietly and scratched nervously at the floor. Spock knew something was restricting him from moving, but at the moment, that was not priority. His heart began to pick up speed. He was unaware of how long he had been unconscious. He locked eyes with his dog.

He heard the upwards rattle and hum of a Klingon patrolship, soaring overhead…incoming, quickly.

“Escape pod, open,” he rasped, his voice returning to him. He heard the familiar _hiss_ of the door sliding somewhere in the dark, though he could not see it. The moonlight bounced off a few broken slates, and even though it wasn’t enough for Spock to see the entire shuttlecraft, it was enough for him to know. The Galileo was destroyed, finished. He felt immediate gratitude that the escape pod had not been damaged enough to malfunction, and he felt even more gratitude that the same held true for the canine. Kivuli heard the hiss of the door too and her ears twitched with recognition, but she did not take her eyes off Spock. Spock took in a breath.

“Kivuli, turbo lift,” he said as sternly as possible. He saw Kiv’s ears perk and pin back towards her neck, hearing the command yet remaining clearly tentative. 

“Turbo lift, Kiv, now.”

She took a step backwards, her paw clacking on a downed steel panel, but stepped no further. The vibrant rattling of the approaching spacecraft forced Spock’s heart into his throat. This feeling, this anticipating anxiety, was something he’d never experienced before and he wished to analyze the feeling, discover the cause for it, but there was simply no time. His stomach clenched at her obvious hesitation, but he hardened his gaze regardless.

“ _Kivuli.”_

Her ears pinned to her neck and her head dipped below her shoulders, but she turned and walked several feet away until Spock could only hear her nails clacking on the panels. She must have completed the command, for the pod door hissed close once again.

He had only seconds to observe himself and the scene before him before he heard the craft land, angry shouts of an enemy language lulling him back to Vulcanism and painting tranquility over his thoughts. 

Somehow, by stroke of what Jim would likely call luck, and perhaps given the circumstances Spock would too, the Galileo had been struck by the Klingons right above the gravitational orbit of some unknown planet. The Galileo had crashed, pinning Spock under a warped steel panel, his back against the wall, and the small amount of blood running into his eye barely concealed the view of his almost numb legs bent out from under the panel. They did not appear broken. He tested his movement as he heard the voices come nearer, their feet thundering against the ground, but he could not move without sending waves of agony into his side. 

He took in another breath. His lungs protested violently. The oxygen was not suitable for his species, probably not for humans either. However, the raw scratching of his throat was hardly important, for the dark looming shapes of three Klingons then shrouded his view. He looked up at them mildly.

“Vulcan dirt,” one of them spat. The reflection of the flames behind the group shimmied off their black vests.

Spock said nothing.

“Where is it?” the Klingon demanded. Spock lifted a brow.

“I am uncertain of what you are referring to.”

The Klingon took a long stride forward and immediately whacked him across the temple, the black glove on his hand hard and unwelcoming. Spock felt his head fling to the side, but he kept his eyes blank as he slowly turned to look back at him.

“I have no time, nor want, for games, _Commander.”_

One of the other Klingons spoke up after this, his face almost confused as Klingon words rolled off his tongue. The one who hit Spock answered back, and Spock saw a flit of recognition cross the other’s face as he studied Spock. 

“You are, of course, Commander Spock,” said the first. “The only half Vulcan in the entirety of Starfleet, and the only living half Vulcan known. How _special,_ ” he sneered. Spock did not answer. The Klingon nodded, his silence answer enough.

“You are. The science officer of the Enterprise, unsurpassed in the knowledge of your specialty. So, as a scientist, you know what happened to Lyro.” It was a statement. Spock again did not answer.

The Klingon hit him again, and Spock tasted blood.

“Waste my time again, _Vulcan.”_  

Spock huffed and locked eyes with the Klingon. 

“I do not fully understand what happened to Lyro,” he said. The lie tasted strange as it left his mouth. “It is a mystery of science and physics.”

“ _Lie again, Vulcan.”_

“Vulcans cannot lie. I understand a disease ravaged the planet, a disease I could not trace, and consumed the population. That is what I know.”

The Klingon laughed, and Spock involuntarily felt a chill run down his back. He had never heard a Klingon laugh before. He did not allow his face to betray anything.

“You say that,” the Klingon snarled, “but our sensors were built specifically to locate a very specific chemical signal. A chemical signal that was recorded on your ship. _So_ _lie. Again. Vulcan_.”

“I trust you are referring to the sulfuric component of the toxin found within the disease.”

The Klingon shut his mouth. Spock continued.

“You did accurately record a signal of the sulfuric toxin, which, as you seem to understand, organically attacks nickel-based bodies hence the desolation of the Lyrrian people, and—“ his breath hitched, something tightened in his side, and his head suddenly felt very dizzy. He willed his mind to ignore this and he recovered. “Commendations to your technology for being so effective. It was I who your sensors registered.”

At this, the Klingon’s smug face, thinking Spock was about to admit something different, fell into surprise.

“You?” he asked, disbelieving. Spock nodded and swallowed a cough. That which followed would only be half a lie.

“Yes. I beamed down to planet Lyro’s surface and unknowingly contracted the disease. It is not contagious to humans, but as you noted, I am only half human. I was the lifeform carrying the sulfur signal that you traced.”

The Klingon snapped his mouth shut again and looked down at Spock dubiously, his eyes hard. Spock did not soften.

“I presumed that was why you were chasing me. If it was not I you sought, what was?”

The Klingon looked back over his shoulder and shared a glance with the second Klingon. Spock looked between them, and it seemed as though he may have convinced them of his fabrications. He looked at the third Klingon, the one who hadn’t spoken since landing, but this one was glaring right down at Spock. There were ugly daggers of doubt in this one’s eyes.

He took a few steps forward, his boots creaking against the downed panels. He bent down in front of Spock. Spock prepared himself for a strike, but the Klingon just stared into his eyes. Spock looked back, disallowing a flinch of even the slightest kind. He was so close to him, Spock could hear the Klingon’s steady breaths.

Finally, the Klingon’s eyes flicked down to the warped steel that pinned Spock. He sniffed once, looked back at the Vulcan, then grabbed the sharp edge of the panel and pushed against it, hard. Spock tried not to gasp, but his breath caught in his throat and his eyes slid past the Klingon as his left side screamed in sharp agony. 

“Where is the dog?” the Klingon whispered. His breath was sour. Spock felt his hands begin to quiver as his control of the pain faltered, but he knew he could not cry out. The hidden animal would surely hear him and cry out too.

“What dog?” he answered through a ragged breath. The Klingon pushed further and Spock growled in his throat and closed his eyes.

“Where is the dog?” he asked again, his rancid voice calm. Spock opened his eyes and looked him in the very dark eyes once more.

“I do not understand what you are referring to. I have no dog. You see my shuttlecraft, it is in ruins, I alone was onboard. If there was a creature of any kind, would your sensors not have picked up on them?”

This was a risky statement, and Spock knew it. Spock himself knew that Klingons had not developed sensors sensitive enough to read secondary Terran creatures, or creatures of any kind in the upper Alpha quadrant, but he did not know if the Klingons knew that the Federation were aware of this. 

The Klingon was as still as a statue, his gaze almost as piercing as whatever was stuck in Spock’s side. The Klingon eventually rose and shared silent words with his comrades. 

Seeing the Galileo themselves, understanding that Captain Kirk’s words were not lies, and there truly was no weapon here that they sought, Spock was certain they would kill him and move on.

He was not ready to die, no, but admittedly, he was curious. He did not believe in an afterlife, but there was a whisper of his human half that allowed his mind to indulge in the thought. Magic and mystery, after all, is only unsolved science. 

There was nothingness before life started, so would there be nothingness after it ended? Or was nothingness no longer nothing after something came to be?

The Klingon with the quiet voice knelt back down, grasped the steel panel, and yanked it towards him with every fiber of his strength.

Then there was nothing.

 

 

_On the contrary;_

_It takes nothing to have something._

_Because you wouldn’t know what something was without nothing._

_You wouldn’t be able to see anything unless there was nothing behind your eyes._

_The most real state…_

_…is the state of nothing._

_That’s what it’s going to all come to._


	15. To Think Like Thunder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PG13 rating still stands, you can assume it will for the remainder of the fic. Think 'The Walking Dead', but not nearly as violent :) [honestly though, this last season needs to chill]  
> Thanks for the patience on this chapter! I've spent a lot of time on it. Partly because I wrote some of it rather tipsy, and as you can imagine, that invited some interesting concepts but also required many a revision.  
> As always, commentary is welcome. I still can't believe people read my stories on the internet. What a concept. LLAP my sweet nerds.

He felt the rusty rattling in his chest while he took soft, choppy breaths. The air was cold but something warm stuck to the skin of his torso. Darkness was all around him.

Only half conscious, he could still feel the secures around his wrists, likely chained into the wall he was laying against. His arms felt heavy, almost numb, as if they were half levitated. He willed his mind to continue waking. He needed to observe, record, surmise, deduce.

He was a prisoner of the Klingons. 

He knew he needed to prepare himself for when the lights in the room were flicked on.

———

“He’s not here,” said Chekov softly. “There is no Vulcan lifeform on my scanner.” His voice was defeated. Kirk simply shook his head.

“The atmosphere appears crooked on our scanners and the compounds in the air are alien,” reasoned Kirk. “There may be a discrepancy. I’m going to check anyway.” He rose from his captain’s chair and took several long strides to the lift. Once he stepped inside, he swiveled around and locked eyes with the doctor.  McCoy nodded.

“Yeah,” he replied as he began to walk forward.

They beamed to the planet’s surface, each wearing a radioactive protective suit that weighed almost as heavy as Mars itself, and scanned the area. The planet was clearly lifeless. Simply an empty rock, drifting along with no purpose in the total isolation that surrounded it; a flounder who’d lost it’s way in the blackest part of the sea.

It was either gross fate or astronomical luck that the Galileo was shot out of the cosmos to fall onto the awaiting planet. The Klingon’s chase showed intent to kill, and they had no way of predicting the path of Spock’s mad warp dash—they clearly did not plan to shoot him down here. Kirk did not consciously believe in a thing called ‘God’, but when the Enterprise picked up the Galileo’s signal, up there when Kirk thought his own stomach would implode with worry, he could not stop the warm spread of gratitude to whatever force brought Spock’s crash to this place. 

The gratitude dissipated as he and McCoy came close enough to the Galileo to truly see it, and his stomach sunk to the core of the planet when they entered through the wide rip in the side. His feet crunched past the threshold, right beneath the engraved word _Galileo_ which had been split in half by the impact.

It was destroyed. Sparks flew from an open circuit towards the rear of the shuttlecraft. Charred remains of the helming console pulsed with dying flame. The small experimental warp drive was crushed completely, and the blue melted liquid of the dilithium crystals leaked toxically out from beneath it.

The small moon was full, but it was beginning to set as the planet’s two faraway suns were crowning over the horizon. Light was young, but it was growing. They could clearly see the inside of the ship with the pinkish hue of the new day. The color of the rising suns almost masked the color of the dark spots covering the far end of the shuttlecraft, which seemed to milk out from the wall and pour down onto the floor below. However, both Kirk and McCoy knew the indigo color of such spots was in fact an illusion, and the closer they walked to spots, the more emerald they became. And over there, tossed aside, as if it were simply in the way of someone’s path, was a jagged piece of steel that looked as though it once belonged to the occupational panel. It was coated in the shimmering liquid.

There was no body to accompany the dark green spots, and Kirk was unsure if this relieved him or not. Klingons were merciless, heartless, apathetic, unpredictable. Their race treasured pain and corruption.

Spock, his greatest friend, the finest first officer in all of Starfleet, the most complicated being Kirk had ever grown to know, was with them. 

“Jim…” started McCoy.

“I will find him.”

“I’m sorry, Jim. I don’t know how this happened.” His voice was lost. Kirk only sighed.

“I’m going to find him, Bones,” he repeated. “And it won’t be what Starfleet wants. Will you come with me?” It was a selfish question, and Kirk knew it. However, he also knew he needed Leonard McCoy as much as he needed Spock. And he though he would damn well try, Kirk was not positive he could do what needed done alone. 

He was also aware that his conviction to find the first officer may be more severe than the doctor’s.

“Do you even have to ask that, Jim?”

“Do I, Bones?”

“Do you?”

“For the past two weeks…”

“I know, I know, he and I barely looked at each other.” He sighed deeply. “Look, Jim…I screwed up with him. I really screwed up this time, and I gotta make it right. Call me empathetic, call me a sap, whatever. Regardless…I’m with you, pal. If anyone’s supposed to wring that hobgoblin’s neck, it’s me. I won’t hand over that privilege to anyone else.” He placed a hand on Kirk’s shoulder, and Kirk looked back at him with fondness in his eyes.

“Alright,” he answered softly. McCoy could never outright say how he cared for Spock without deflecting his statements with something passive aggressive, but even so, Kirk could see the meaning on McCoy’s face. He knew he was as serious as finding Spock as Kirk himself was.

There was blood on the wall, but there wasn’t a body to place it. Spock was alive. He was injured, clearly, but, alive. _Alive._

And then a scratching sound. 

The two men exchanged glances, brows furrowing, as the scratching sound became louder. The debris beneath McCoy’s feet crunched as he turned, looking, and suddenly his posture stiffened.

“The escape pod…!” he said, his eyes widening. “Jim, it’s coming from here, in the corner, it’s the escape pod.” 

Jim refused to allow hope to rise in his chest — Spock was not here, the Klingons took him. The scratching could be only one thing.

The one thing which Spock realized first, as he seemed to make a habit of doing. The thing which began this entire ordeal, the catalyst to a war which began rising the moment the landing party stepped foot on Lyro. 

Kirk stepped slowly towards the escape pod. Something burned in his eyes, and it wasn’t the radioactive wavelengths his spacesuit protected him from. He punched in the code and opened it.

Kivuli stood there, her face distraught, her ribcage shrinking and expanding and shrinking and expanding with both claustrophobic anxiety and toxic air. The tips of her nails were cracked and bleeding, the inside of the pod door scratched to hell.

“Kivuli…” whispered Kirk. Immense relief filled him at the sight of her, at the knowledge that an innocent creature had survived and at the knowledge that a weapon of havoc had been overlooked by the enemy. He knelt down and held her close to his chest, and she willingly allowed him to do so. “Where is Spock?” asked Kirk. “Where is he? Where is he?”

Of course, she could not answer, and Kirk could only allow his imagination to run wild with terrible premonitions while he held the dog close. 

Captain Kirk was unaware of how it was accomplished, but he knew Spock was aware of the connection between the dog and the Klingons. Spock must have known that the animal could never be within finger reach of the enemy again, for it would be catastrophic to an unknown amount of souls. 

Spock hid her. Somehow, Spock put Kiv in that pod. And when the Klingons came marching in, their dark energy and weapons in tow, they did not come across the canine. They had not seen her. Kirk gave Kiv a soft stroke and he stood. A sudden influx of acceptance and logic flowed though him. He exhaled deeply. The Klingon’s had captured Spock.

“They’ll probably kill him,” he said blandly, his eyes focused on nothing in particular. He saw McCoy nod.

“Probably,” McCoy replied. 

“I’m still going after them.”

“No chance in wrangling up some Starfleet backup?”

“Spock is still alive. If we wait for numbers…” he shook his head. “Besides, Starfleet is going to focus on stopping the war before it even begins…they won’t take risks to find him.”

“But you will?”

“I will,” Kirk answered immediately. McCoy chuckled softly.

“I guess there’s a good reason why the only person Spock’s ever been loyal to is you.”

“What does that mean?”

“It just means that you’re a good man, Jim. Inherently.” He considered a moment. “Can’t find much of that, no matter what planet you’re from.”

Kirk turned towards his friend, who in the middle of the turmoil, suddenly looked like a beaming flower in a charcoal blasted desert.

“Bones…” He turned a sad corner of his mouth up. He was so entirely glad this man was beside him, and he treasured his friendship so dearly that he silently vowed to never allow anything to happen to him. McCoy saw the look on his face and answered with a smirk.

“Now don’t go getting sappy on me, Jim. You do that sometimes.”

“I just really value you, McCoy. I need you to know that.”

“Didn’t you hear what I just said about that sappy talk?”

“I love you, Bones.” His face was an array of emotions, and McCoy only shook his head and stepped forward and pulled the captain into a strong hug.

“Dammit Jim, pull yourself together. You’ve always been such a romantic.” The doctor released the hug and held Jim’s shoulders. “We’re gonna fucking find them, alright?”

At that, Kirk raised an eyebrow. “What word was that?” he joked wryly. 

“You heard me.”

“Well, now those Klingons really are in trouble. I’ve heard that each time a medical man swears like that, a Klingon shrivels into a raisin.”

“Well I guess I’ll be swearing a whole lot more then.” 

Kirk gave him a small smile and turned around to inspect the area once more. He stopped at the blood-stained corner and ran his palm over his jaw.

“I wish we knew how long ago they left,” he muttered. “How much we missed them by.” He shook his head and paced away from the area. McCoy, however, scrunched his forehead and stepped forward. He tapped his finger in the air as he studied the wall. 

“Well…” he observed. He knelt before the green spots. “I’m just going off the amount here, as well as the thickness and dryness of it…” he trailed off as his mind flicked through files of medical information.

“Thickness?” asked Kirk with surprise. 

“Yeah. Vulcan blood is very thin inside the body, anemic on a human scale, but it thickens the moment it touches air and it continues to thicken the longer it’s exposed.”

“Doesn’t human blood do the same?”

“Yes, but on a smaller scale. So…at a rough estimate…I’m guessing this blood left his veins around 4-6 solar hours ago. Probably was taken not long after that.”

“Well…we have time to make up for. Shall we beam up, then?”

“Let’s go boss.”

Kirk called for Scotty’s retrieval of them, and within moments they were back aboard the ship. McCoy quickly took Kivuli to see Dr. Cierra and Kirk just as quickly bounded up towards the bridge.

The search for the Klingons was daunting. They could only assume the enemy would trail back towards their half of the quadrant, so Kirk ran on that whim and commed up to Sulu to turn the ship around. They’d keep their ears, eyes, and sensors open to the dark silence beyond the ship, and pray for a trace or a glitch in the Klingons’ cloaking device. 

For the moment a clue was found, a taste of any kind of the path they’d taken, Kirk would leap into a hunt akin to the most cunning predator.

He would take the ship as far as the edge of the neutral zone and hope that the Enterprise’s exceptional sensors could find something before then, because when they came upon the boundary, the difficulty of the search would become so much more handsomely challenging. When that time came, Kirk and his CMO would be on their own with nothing more than a shuttlecraft.

“Uhura,” he called when he rushed onto the bridge. She turned around in her chair.

“I need a subspace transmission to Admiral Florence immediately.”

“Now, sir?”

“Yes. Now.”

———

“You say you contracted the virus two solar weeks ago, yet you remain not only alive but strong-minded. You have lied about—“

“I have not lied, for if you were to analyze the formulated logic of the present circumstances—“ the back of Spock’s head hit the wall as the Klingon’s fist struck him. 

“I have no want to hear you speak,” Barot hissed through his teeth. Still Spock rose his head and met eyes with the Klingon.

“I am attempting to communicate diplomatically,” he replied, his voice firm but throaty. Despite the interrogating Klingon’s claims, Spock _did_ have the virus within his bloodstream. However, if the Klingon, who was uncoincidentally the same Klingon who had ordered the attack on the Enterprise, would listen to Spock, he would understand that Spock was not decaying as the Klingon expected because of his superior Vulcan half. The virus had weakened Spock, and it continued to fight against the healthy cells of his body, but it would never cause him to succumb. The amount of iron in Spock’s green blood was not enough for the virus to feed off of. As far as Spock could predict, it would not kill him or cause him to go mad.

Though, Spock knew, given his current situation, this was hardly a sentiment. And the fact did not stop his body from feeling weak or his breath to come more ragged. The virus was not lethal, but just so grandly, it was incredibly inconvenient. 

“We are past such things, Vulcan.”

“Holding a Starfleet officer prisoner is a direct and severe violation of the Treaty of Organia.”

Commodore Barot snarled and lowered himself so he was on the same level as Spock. He leaned forward, his breath rancid, and whispered, “Do you truly believe I, in any regard, care _at all about that?”_

Spock did not blink. No, he supposed. No Barot did not care at all about that. For if he did, the inhabitants of Lyro would still be alive. The genocide of their race proved that the Klingon’s had gone wholly rogue, and Starfleet must take direct action to cease their malicious behavior. 

The knowledge that war was upon them caused Spock more pain than any strike Commodore Barot could attack him with. If there was another war, many lives would be lost. Existence was precious, and minds were meant for curiosity and connection; war threatened such things. War was the enemy of progress. 

“So, by definition, your lie about the virus leads to your lie about the dog.”

“Commodore, there was no canine.”

Barot thrust his fist into Spock’s bleeding side, and white spots flashed in Spock’s eyes. He pushed air out from his nose and bit back a groan.

“Why do you continue to lie to me, Commander Spock?”

“It was only myself,” Spock pressed between breaths. “There was no dog.”

“Simply tell me where the dog is, be it a Starbase or a cargo carrier or Neptune itself, and I will release you to your ship.”

“There was no dog.”

Barot pushed into Spock’s wound further, and the pain reached a level where Spock could not hold back a strained moan. The pain could be managed, thought the Vulcan, if only he could find his concentration. The issue lied in the fact that he could not, and the torture was beginning to truly bother him.

“Tell me there was no dog, Commander,” dared the Klingon as he pushed his body forward. Spock forced out his answer.

“There was not.”

“Your half-breeded mouth lies.”

“I do not lie. I carry the virus. You detected me and me alone.”

“ _Prove it.”_

“The Klingon’s claim superior technology,” rasped Spock, “yet do not posses a portable sensor which medically examines any living creature before it. The fault that you haven’t such a device does not lie with me.”

“You repulsive _ingrate!”_ The Klingon withdrew his arm and rammed it back into Spock’s injured side, and for the first time since Barot began interrogating him, Spock cried out.

“You think yourself heroic, don’t you, Vulcan?” he spat at him. “You think you are forced here with us, bearing your demise, so your Federation can flee away with that Earth dog in hand to save the galaxy? You are sourly wrong. I will keep you here, I will extract what I want from you — _by any means_ — and then you will _die_ here. Do not mistake the capability of the Empire.”

“Why would one _desire_ conflict?” Spock wondered aloud after several coughs. He asked this genuinely, truly marveled at what the answer could possibly be. Peace was of his people, and was of the Federation — yet an entire race seemed to yearn for it and intensely enjoy it’s presence. 

“I desire power. I desire to eliminate the weak. The rest is simple.”

“Why Lyro?” The question had been eating at him since that fateful day two weeks ago. “Their ties with the Federation were young. Your people had nothing against them. Not a Lyrrian soul had ever left the planet’s atmosphere.” Both Earth and Vulcan were too highly patrolled and too deep within Federation territory to be targeted, but there were several other variables which Spock would have first predicted had he the preconceived notion to. But _why Lyro?_ What economical or political gain did the Klingon’s have over their destruction?

“I thought they would be fun to watch die.”

There was an ugly silence. Commodore Barot finally rose and looked down at the slightly curled but sitting Vulcan, arms loosely chained into the wall so his elbows hung beside his ears. The room fell mostly in shadow, the only light baring from a failing light source that draped from the ceiling. It was an empty room save for several crates stacked to the far left, too enveloped in darkness for Spock to accurately see. The Klingon’s face seemed fuzzy in the dark yet his voice cut immeasurably sharp through the air.

“I suggest that when I return, for your sake, you have the truth ready.”

His boots clocked on the cold rocky ground and the heavy door slammed behind him. Spock’s body ached and the skin of his wrists were beginning to find themselves raw. It was not scientifically convincing, but the first officer considered his body felt almost lighter at the amount of blood he’d lost. The open wound had begun to coagulate, but the most recent pummeling of it almost perceptively opened it again.

Spock sighed and rested his head back against the cold wall, the compound a strange mix between cement and rock. He closed his eyes, studied his breath, listened to the way the wind howled beyond the cold barrier he was chained on. 

_Do not forget the shadow of solitude, nor the darkness of which that shadow nests. For no mere soul can escape the capture of loneliness._

He studied the gravity of whatever planet or moon he was captive on, felt the natural pull on the weight of his body. He felt air fill his lungs and he felt it leave. The wind sang like a distant _j’hovik_ hunting in the night.

_The mind is omnipotent, and the cosmological energy it possesses is a ubiquity shared by none. Strip the body, strip the flesh, strip the grip on physicality itself. The mind is the soul, and the soul is the reason. Do not forget the words of Surak, not even when words themselves are gone and disguised by the most bloodied of hands._

_Inflammation of emotion is not so simply mediated nor medicated, and life is not so simply lost. Find balance, find peace, do not assume the same of the one beside you. Uniformity restricts progress. Uniformity invites small-mindedness. Be not afraid of who you have become, so long as who you have become is becoming of you. You cannot insult your own breath unless you betray the consciousness that defines you._

It was the same essay he always repeated when silence was not enough for him to fall into meditation. An essay he was assigned to read by one of the few Vulcan professors whom he genuinely respected, an essay that had stuck with him the moment his eyes had read it.

_Above all, the body speaks and the mind listens. And the question lies in how thickly you will choose to ignore the call._


	16. The Strength of Devotion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays, guys! 
> 
> Rating is still at PG13, nothing worse than The Walking Dead. Thanks for sticking with me! I'm having a great time writing it!

“This is…a lot to take in,” sighed Admiral Florence as she rubbed her temples. She seemed to have aged twenty years, her wrinkles thickening and the bags beneath her eyes darkening. Kirk looked down at the glass table he sat at. The conference room was empty and lonely, the silent walls only enhancing the desperation mapped on the Admiral’s face.

Florence had long been an advocate against the controversial subject of war with the Klingons. Back when she was a commander aboard the USS Dawnshire, where coincidentally Kirk was serving as a young ensign, she first began making waves against the conflict when she appeared at the Federation’s Interplanetary Convention. She had given an extensive and enrapturing lecture regarding the relationship with the Klingons, and went on to explain how dilution of the tension was fully possible. The lecture went on to become frequently quoted as inspiration against the inching war, even years after her words had been spoken.

And just now, Kirk told her what the enemy had done, the words leaving harsh red marks that spelt the word _war_ across both their skins _,_ and what he told her was not “an unmanned cargo ship was targeted” nor a “they’ve crossed the neutral zone”…

…but so much more severely, “an entire race has been decimated to extinction.”

“And Admiral,” Kirk went on to say, his voice almost refusing to leave his throat. “They’ve captured Commander Spock…and…I am completely oblivious to his location.”

She was still as a statue, her eyes so unblinking that for a moment Kirk wondered if the video feed had defected. But then suddenly her face fell, her shoulders sunk, her hand feathered to her forehead, and her eyes slid to the ground in a mixture of repressed shock and sorrow.

“Commander Spock is a prisoner of war?” she asked with resignation.

The label punched Kirk in the gut; he hadn’t thought of it like that. Spock was the first prisoner of war. What was happening—what had been happening—was the beginning of Chapter One in the history books, decades down the road, where unaware children will learn how the conflict began. Kirk suddenly wondered what Chapter Two would look like, or Chapter Three, or Chapter Ten. 

Would Spock’s name be beside Kirk’s in Chapter Ten? Where Kirk and the Federation invariably imprisoned every single Klingon responsible for the death of the Lyrrian people, and infiltrated their combative nests until all malpractices were extinguished by Federation justice? Where the malevolence was ended and peace was brought back to the galaxy…would Spock’s name still be there?

Or would Spock’s name only be in those first few pages, never to be typed again after the mention of his death in captivity. A ghost on a page that held no memory besides a name.

There was so much more to remember about Spock than just a name.

“Captain?” 

Kirk then realized he hadn’t answered her, and he swallowed his rising thoughts.

“Yes, he is,” he replied. She exhaled quietly.

“Shit.” The word was clipped, muttered. Despondency brewed beneath her voice. Then suddenly, she immediately straightened her back and summoned the strength that made her Admiral. She asked how. What were the circumstances? What preceded his capture? What of the animal? He told her everything. Finally, she leaned forward further and bore her intense eyes into Kirk’s.

“Do not go after him, Kirk.”

That earned a raising of both eyebrows.

“Admiral?”

“He made the conscious decision to divert the attack on the Enterprise to himself. To save you and the ship. Do not put such things back at risk and demoralize his efforts.”

“Admiral…I have no intention of putting the Enterprise at risk.”

“I know that.”

“…So—“

“But what of yourself?”

Kirk exhaled and gave an unhumored chuckle. “Admiral, please…”

“You are great friends with Spock. I know that. And the anxiety, fear, and horror I feel for him must be magnified exponentially for you. And for that, James, I am sorry…I truly am. But he is not the only soul at risk at this moment…we are skirting on the plateau of war, and you are already down a first officer. Please, don’t leave your ship without a captain. Come back to Starbase Beta 3, we will debrief, illustrate a strategy, and deploy from there.”

“Admiral Florence—“

“That was not an invitation, Kirk,” she articulated, though the order still remained kind. Kirk gave a very long sigh.

“The Enterprise will be there, Admiral.”

“You will be helming it,” she stated fiercely. He did not immediately answer. “ _Captain.”_

“The Enterprise is the strongest ship in the fleet, with a crew unlike any other out there. She’ll be there as quick as warp 7 will take her.”

“Captain Kirk, tell me you will be the first to beam down and shake my hand when the ship arrives. Tell me that.”

Kirk actually laughed quietly and felt his eyes grow wet. He shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. 

He hadn’t expected the meeting to come to this, but there truly was no point in lying, or skirting the truth, or avoiding the obvious. He looked at her, and as he spoke the words, knew the utter truth in them and felt in his gut that there really was no other option.

“I can’t.”

“James…you are directly disobeying a First Admiral’s orders.”

“I know what I’m doing, Florence. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to do this alone. You _can’t_ do this alone. You’ll get yourself killed.”

Suddenly, censorship and abridgement was abandoned. His face grew soft, his posture lessened from Captain Kirk to Jim Kirk, and he pushed his lips together with another apologetic and small shrug.

“I just can’t leave him,” he said honestly. It was simply matter of fact, as true as absolute zero was true.

“Wait for numbers, Kirk. Wait for—“

“He will be dead by then. You know that as well as I do. They don’t hold prisoners captive, Admiral, they hold prisoners until their purpose has depleted. And then they murder them. And I am physically unable to allow that to happen to Commander Spock, not while I am alive. Just the thought makes my appetite for both food and life run away like a rabbit from a wolf, and it’s tearing me apart knowing that he’s God knows where, bleeding out, all alone, without another single kindred mind likely within hundreds of thousands of clicks. You can’t sway me. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, Captain…” She shook her head and aged even further. “You’re not just throwing away your career, but your life as well.”

“I will willingly give up both.”

“And your ship?”

“The best thing that’s ever happened to me, is this ship.” He paused. “Starfleet has served me more than I’ve served it. Just know that. And the Enterprise…well. My recommendation for Lt. Commander Scott to be considered for Captain. He loves this hunk of space metal more than his own life. Listen, I’ll turn the ship around right away, Admiral, she’ll be there as—“

“ _James.”_

He stopped with his mouth slightly agape, and Florence gave him a sad smile.

“You are no longer affiliated with Starfleet…”

The words cut through him like a knife, but he already knew it was the truth. He began to reply his acknowledgment, but she interrupted him once more before he could get it out. 

“Which means…with Starfleet, well, violence is frowned upon, and for good reason. Because we have found peace, violence is not only unnecessary, but grossly primal. But these bastards…they do not know peace. They know only violence, and they have one our own. They will not give him back without a fight. James, I expect you to fight back.”

Kirk was frozen for a moment, surprised by her blunt honesty. An open invitation to fight rather than speak was a thing he’d never heard from the upper brass. Finally he nodded.

“I intend to, Admiral.”

“And since you’ll be stealing Federation property, make it worth while and take the best shuttle on that ship. All the supplies you need, too.”

“Admiral…should you be telling me this on a subspace video transmission?” he asked somewhat hesitantly. She chuckled softly.

“I want someone to try and foul me when it involves the attempted rescue of Commander Spock of the USS Enterprise. I _dare_ them to.”

At that, Kirk returned the small smile. He clenched his jaw and rubbed his hands together. He hoped he could return to face his court martial, simply to shake Florence’s hand as she had before asked. 

“God speed, Kirk.”

“Devil willing, Admiral…” He scanned her face and gave her a small nod of total, genuine gratitude. “Thank you.”

“As Admiral, I deplore your abandonment of your post. As Venezra Florence…wreak havoc, Jim. I know I can’t convince you to stay, but I am expecting you to bring him back.”

“I will, Venezra. I will.”

———

“Do you know what this is?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me.”

“It is a Klingon mind sifter.”

“A mind _ripper._ ”

“Variation of name holds no distinction to it’s purpose.”

“Keep talking, Commander. See if your sense of sarcasm stands after this.”

“In fact it does not stand now, for I was not being sarcastic in the slightest.”

Omah’k laughed darkly. Dangerously. He was the Klingon down on that rocky, empty planet. The one who ripped the debris out of Spock’s side and invited the flooding of blood that was now soaking his uniform. Barot had called him in, frustrated by his own lack of success in breaking Spock, and he stood before him now with a small, circular object resting in the palm of his hand. Spock began preparing his mind for this the moment he awoke, and he waited patiently for what was about to accompany him. 

“Did you see a dog on Lyro?”

“No.”

“Did you see a dog on Lyro?”

“No.”

“Did you see a dog on Lyro?”

“No.” And then Spock’s entire body tensed as though a bolt of lightning skewered his body and his breath caught in his throat. He had been expecting it, but he could never prepare himself for the sensation coursing through his brain. The mind sifter whirred like a hovobot that had missed it’s yearly maintenance, spurring and coughing quietly beside Spock’s right ear. 

Spock hardly heard the faulty noises, for the matter between his ears felt as though it was being raked with a spear.  He refused himself to emit any indication of the pain he was feeling. Finally, after what seemed to be hours, the whirring stopped and a small breeze blew down Spock’s face as Omah’k’s hand dropped away.

“Did you see a dog on Lyro?”

“Repetition of the same question will result in repetition of the same answer.”

“So be it.”

And Omah’k flicked his wrist so the small sphere in his hand activated, then he flicked his wrist again so the sphere’s humming became louder, and he swung it up beside Spock’s head. Spock jerked backwards into the wall. He still remained quiet, but his face pressed together and his eyes closed. 

“Tell me, Spock. Tell me when you saw the dog.”

“I did not,” he replied with a firm voice. The Klingon flicked his wrist again and the humming began to sound like a small engine. Spock groaned and clenched his eyes further shut. He heard the Klingon give a single, quiet, satisfied chuckle.

“All you must do is give me what I want.”

“I have given the truth.” This time, Spock’s voice was heavily stained. He felt his arms, still chained into the wall, begin to shake. For the first time since he woke up in that room, he was internally grateful that he was sitting rather than standing; he was not confident he could manage to stand.

As quickly as the pain tethered round his mind, it stopped. The whirr of the device drowned away and the Klingon named Omah’k shifted his squatting position. His feet _shhht_ against the cold ground as he did so. Spock’s breathing had become heavy, but he opened his eyes anyway. The hardness in them was unintentional.

“Spock…” crooned Omah’k. “I do not understand why you do this to yourself. You’re causing yourself more pain than necessary.”

“I am not causing it, Omah’k. The one causing it is you. Deflection of your actions is an injustice to your own being.”

Omah’k released a laugh, the corner of his mouth curling upwards as he lifted the mind sifter up to his eyes. He rotated it between his fingers.

“They say it is savagery and instinct that are the qualities to survival,” he said as he admired the sphere. “The ones who stay alive are the ones who do the killing.”

Spock said nothing.

“I had a father, once. A weak man. He had this…tick. A strange tick. He would take a flame, conjure it from a device or light it in a pit, and just watch it. He did this all the time, just, watching the orange shadows be devoured by the blue ones. As a child I didn’t understand it, it was simply just a part of my life. Watching father watch the flames. After a hunting party, he would watch the flames. After a patrol, he would watch the flames. One day, after a meeting with the emperor, he watched the flames for 18 solar hours straight. He was so still that I began doubt he had ever moved. My mother told me the emperor had sliced my father with a knife because of his negligence on a recent patrol, and he stripped him of his rank. It was that day that I understood father’s strange tick, and what it meant each time he did it. By watching the chaos of fire, he suffocated the primal instinct to attack. It charred his impulses so he could keep himself in control.”

He tossed the mind sifter into the air and caught it, and casually rotated it so a small amount of already dim light glinted off it’s surface. A seed of dread rooted inside Spock’s stomach, but he only barely acknowledged it’s presence. After all, the choice to divert the Klingon’s away from the Enterprise was the only option and he had taken it. No regret can be found in that which cannot be changed. Logic led Spock to this position, and for it, Spock felt no regret. 

“Fortunately…” Omah’k continued in a mutter. “I am not my father. And nothing suppresses my drive to attack, and I am not in control.”

Slowly, Omah’k raised his arm to hover the sphere by Spock’s head.

“Where is the dog, Commander S’chn’Tgai Spock?” 

In lieu of words, Spock simply took a quiet and subtle sigh and straightened his back. Omah’k pushed his mouth together, curled it upwards, and nodded his head. 

He flicked his wrist.


	17. Desertion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christ, I am so sorry for being gone for so long. I was fired from my day job (they felt threatened that I'd sue them over something and got rid of me) and coffee spilled over my laptop so I've been without a device. But! I bought this cute lil tablet off Amazon that comes with a keyboard and I am back in business.  
> I think I will name the tablet Dobby. Dobby is the size of 1\3 of a piece of paper. Dobby's keyboard is quite small and has things such as quotations and commas in strange places, so please be patient with any typos, as well as any inconsistencies with spacing or font sizes...it's an adventure typing and posting on itty bitty Dobby.  
> Thanks for sticking with me. Here's to new beginnings.

“Just don’t say anything, alright, McCoy?” implored Kirk, half a smile plastered on his face. He was tired, but the total look of exasperation on the doctor’s face couldn’t help but make him laugh. McCoy scoffed.

“What, you think  _ I’m _ gonna jeopardize this felony-level robbery?”

“I think you should just let me do the talking.”

“I think you do enough talking, always.”

“Just let me handle it, Bones.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just make it quick. I gotta use the toilet.”

“Well wait until after take-off, alright? I’ve seen a few rookies make that mistake before, trust me, it’s not pretty. And make sure you press that button for at least ten seconds, the  _ Brighton _ ’s sonic toilet is as efficient as Chekov at 6 in the morning.”

“Jesus, are you gonna go steal a shuttlecraft or not?!”

“Yes! Keep your mouth glued.”

They abandoned the wall they’d been leaning against and turned the corner into the shuttlecraft hanger, the space massive with several hunkering machines scattered around. Kirk straightened his back and summoned both his captainly stride and smile as the two of them walked towards the shuttlecraft in question.

The  _ Brighton _ was small, speedy, sturdy. A red-clad security officer stood from his chair in the back office and came out to greet the two approaching officers.

“Good afternoon, Captain…I wasn’t expecting an inspection.”

“Not an inspection, Ensign, I came to see which shuttlecraft would best fit our micro-warp initiative,” answered Kirk matter-of-factly, looking around and pretending to scan the different crafts. The Ensign raised his eyebrows.

“…Micro-warp initiative, sir?”

“Yes, the  _ Galileo  _ was the only shuttlecraft with a warp capable engine, so obviously, we need to get to work on the next one.”

“…Uh, right. Right, I think I read a memo on that the other day.”

“I should hope you did.”

“Yes sir, it’s coming back to me. Must have slipped my mind. Would you like a rundown of the shuttlecrafts we have available? The  _ Mossiere  _ has a wonderful navigation system, just recently updated.”

“Actually, I think I’d like to hear the mechanical process of manufacturing an engine, first.”

“...sir?”

“How to build an engine, I would like to hear the process.”

“Well…uh, admittedly, um, I’m not sure how to do that. That’s not my specialty.”

“Of course not, don’t worry Ensign, I didn’t expect it from you. Don’t you have an engineering man around here somewhere?”

“Well, he just left for lunch, sir. He finished his morning tasks.”

“Oh! On lunch? McCoy, didn’t you check the schedule first? Well I am just so sorry, Ensign, but unfortunately I do need to speak with him. Would you go fetch him for me? With all that’s happened, I have a large pile of Starfleet subspace meetings to attend to after this. I gotta squeeze this in now.”

“Of course, sir. One moment.”

Kirk exchanged glances with McCoy and smirked. McCoy rolled his eyes.

“Ensign Gomez to Ensign Coutillard.”

Kirk looked away from McCoy to see the young ensign speaking into his communicator, to which Kirk silently cursed himself for lack of common sense.

“He’ll be here soon, Captain.”

“Oh, wonderful. Wonderful. Uh, well, Ensign, feel free to go grab a cup of coffee while we wait for Coutillard, I don’t mind.”

“Oh, no thank you, Captain, I don’t drink caffeine.”

“Perhaps you should run to the head, this discussion over the production of engines will probably be very lengthy.”

“I recently returned from break myself, sir, it’s not necessary.”

“I can mind the hanger, Ensign, don’t be shy to do what you need to do.”

“Really, Captain...I’m all set.”

Kirk turned his shoulders to give McCoy another hopeless look, but the doctor had very suddenly disappeared. Kirk swiveled around, but the man was nowhere in sight. He suppressed the massive sigh he so very much wanted to give and turned to give the ensign a small smile.

“Where has Doctor McCoy gone?”

“Oh, I think he left, sir. Warp engines probably don’t interest him, anyway.”

“No, they don’t, apparently,” Kirk mumbled. He rubbed the back of his neck casually as he searched desperately for a different option. If he outright told the ensign before him he was in need of a shuttlecraft to rescue Commander Spock, the ensign, no doubt, would step aside quicker than lightning — Starfleet officers, no matter the rank or the specialty, did not only collectively despise the Klingons, but held the life of a fellow shipmate above all else.

The thing was, though, that despite the pure and good intentions of such things…it was not enough to hold up in a court of law when faced with clear and severe charges against the Federation. Not a fiber of Kirk’s being could allow him to take down anyone else in this certainly hopeless mission of impulse.

This left only one option. Kirk swallowed and clenched his fists, rubbing his thumb over his fingers. He did not wish to beat the kid up, but for the sake of the Ensign’s career, he supposed it would have to be done.

“ _ CAPTAIN! CAPTAIN KIRK!” _

Kirk spun around in alarm at the sound of McCoy’s screaming voice echoing down the hallway. McCoy tripped into the hanger and hung himself dramatically on the frame of the door, panting and sweating. Confused and utterly lost, Kirk simply stared at him and shot the doctor the silent question,  _ what the hell are you doing? _

“Captain!” breathed McCoy. “There’s a man down the hallway, a young man, trembling on the floor and wheezing for air. He’s as white as a sheet!”

Kirk continued to stare at him, but Ensign Gomez jerked and sprinted forward, yelling,

“Cotillard! It’s Cotillard! I’m coming, Andre, hold on! Hold on!” He dashed straight past McCoy, the only doctor nearby, and continued running until his hammering footsteps were no longer heard.

“Well,” started McCoy as he stood up and sraightened his shirt. “Shall we?”

Kirk, his jaw open, laughed once as McCoy walked past him and opened the  _ Brighton _ ’s doors,

“Come on, sunshine,” called McCoy. “Before that boy realizes what’s been pulled on him. Oh, and, keep your mouth shut. You’re gonna get us caught.”


	18. Sights and the Unknown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to be on the safe side, warnings for: mild language, torture, and not very graphic injuries.
> 
> Love you guys

“Lift him,”  commanded Omah’k. The two towering Klingons on either side of Spock reached down and yanked him up, the violent movement sending a sick wave of nausea into the Vulcan’s stomach. He felt the thick layer of dried blood crinkle under his shirt.

“You have only days, Commander,” Omah’k sneered. “Days.”

“I am aware of my own injuries.”

“Yet you cannot find such awareness when recalling more important things.”

“Repetition is a waste of resources.”

Suddenly the mind sifter was there, it was whirring, it was screaming, and Spock screamed too. He realized the Klingon’s prediction of his life was generous; he may not survive long at the rate of which he was weakening and at the rate they so habitually weakened him.

He stopped screaming before the device did, but eventually, at some point, it silenced too and Omah’k stepped closer.

The Klingon unsheathed a knife from his belt and lifted its point to set against Spock’s temple. He did not flinch when the cold steel made contact.

“When is Captain Kirk’s birthday?” asked Omah’k. For the first time in two days, Spock raised an eyebrow and glanced questionably up at the Klingon.

“Is that truly the question you meant to ask?” he managed. He was answered by the knife pressing further into his skin, the pressure flaming a migraine, and Spock pressed his lips together. He willed his mind to control the pain and tried again.

“I know your people have access to that information,” he answered tightly, “if you so desire the answer.” The migraine magnetized and skewered into that one temple as the knife pressed in further in tandem with Omah’k’s growing impatience. Spock cursed the virus within him for making this so terribly worse.

“I want to hear you say it,” the Klingon growled.

“Why?”

“Because I will decapitate you and send your severed head to your friends if you don’t.”

Spock clenched his jaw, attempting as he could to disallow anger to come out of it’s shadowed burrow. His weakened state thinned his mental walls, and the emotion often reminded him of it’s existence in times of interrogation.

“The 22nd of March,” Spock complied through almost gritted teeth. For some curious reason, bringing Jim into the conversation between he and the Klingon bothered him greatly. He did not wish for his friend to be the subject of any conversation that could possibly take place with these beings. He would do anything he could to ensure Kirk’s safety from them, and right just then, at Omah’k’s close proximity and the rancor of his presence, Spock had a thought and an idea.

“Hmm,” hummed Omah’k. “How interesting. You see, I was under the impression that Vulcans did not form emotional bonds to anybody. They’re lonely creatures, on purpose. Yet...there is a Vulcan before me, who cares for his captain, and he tells lies to protect him. To protect him and the ship and his  _ friends _ .”

“I recall every fact I see. The recollection of Captain Kirk’s date of birth does not denote any emotionalism.”

Omah’k pressed his thumb down on the spine of the knife and sliced past Spock’s skin. Spock stiffened and held back his voice, but he could not stop himself from feeling the warmth of his blood run down his face.

“No…” murmured Omah’k. “I suppose not. But…”

The knife traveled another inch down his flesh,

“...you hesitating to answer that question…”

The green tinged blade split down to the top of Spock’s ear before being revoked and held menacingly in the air,

“...does.”

\---

The last echoes of Klingon boots crossing into the hallway had long dissipated. Spock was alone.

Since the moment she disappeared into that crashed turbolift, Spock missed Kivuli. She was bright, and her intelligence was oddly warming to him. He had subconsciously grown attached to her presence, to the soft sound of her paws mirroring his own footsteps. The clacking of her paws had been leeched to him for two weeks, and now their sound was replaced by resounding and haunting silence.

Spock truly hoped Kirk had found her by now. He was certain he must have; Captain Kirk was one of the most clever beings Spock had known. He was also one of the most passionate and determined, and Spock knew he must have given chase for Spock once the opportunity arose.

Being nowhere near the man, Spock could not tell him to cease the attempt. He could not reason with him. And...regardless...even if Spock was with him somehow, he still would not be able to reason with him. Kirk was many things, as noted, and stubborn was one of them.

Spock knew Kirk must be looking for him. Spock knew he must have discovered Kivuli. Spock knew he would be searching for Spock himself next. Spock knew all these things, which was why he had had that sudden thought and had acted upon it.

Kirk would likely go into Klingon territory looking for him. He would put his life at risk in the search, covering thousands of clicks to find any transparent glimpse of where Spock was being kept. He’d wander around enemy grounds blindly, foolishly, illogically. Captain Kirk would get himself killed doing this.

There was a frequency transmitter on every Klingon communicator. Klingons had not yet developed technology which accurately transmitted minute locations, so they used frequencies as geological location systems.

“No, I suppose not,” Omah’k had said. He leaned closer with every rancid breath. Spock felt his adrenaline rise, his heart pulsing in his ears. He was still just out of reach…

“But you hesitating to answer that question…” Omah’k leaned closer as he sliced the blade deeper in the Vulcan’s skin, and though the pain was felt, it was hardly noticed. Only a whisp nearer…

“...does,” whispered Omah’k finally. The coldness of his body emitted onto Spock’s skin, and finally, Spock outstretched his chained hand so his fingers wrapped around the communicator on the Klingon’s shoulder and quickly transmitted a frequency, any frequency, before Omah’k jerked back and whipped Spock on the temple with the blunt end of the knife. His vision dance, but it did not darken.

“You are  _ foolish,  _ Commander,” he spat. “Your nerve pinch is ineffective against me and the next time you attempt it, I will rip each finger off your hand and display them in a vase in the Emperor's rooms, you incredible waste.”

And he had left in a fury, his men following until the echoes down the hallway were gone with them.

Spock laid his head against the cold wall, the temperature soothing to his both bruised and lacerated temple. The muscles surrounding the hole in his side quivered, and Spock hoped Kirk would find him soon. For both of their sakes.

Hope. What a foolish thing. What was the point in believing in the hypothetical when the reality is quite evident in the present?

He closed his eyes and dreamt of a black dog and the Vulcan sun.

\---

“Okay, someone needs to take a look at that toilet,” whined McCoy as he sauntered out from the small room. “You weren’t kidding when you said you gotta press that button for longer than a cake of cornbread stays in the oven on a Tuesday in January.”

“Well...that’s not quite exactly what I said.”

“Wasn’t it? And, because I care about you, I recommend you don’t go in there for awhile,” he winked. Kirk laughed.

“Couldn’t you have taken care of that  _ before  _ we boarded this very small shuttlecraft?”

“Well, I figured there must be a way I can enact revenge on you for taking me on this suicide mission.”

“Duly noted, Doc. Though, to be fair, you basically volunteered.”

“Did I, though?” teased McCoy. They smiled at one another and stared out the main window, out at the small bright dots of light and the colors that surrounded them. McCoy had taken comfort on the back bench, his leg draped over the armrest and his arms crossed before him.

They were silent for a few moments, sitting in the knowledge of what they had done. Though, to neither of them, even despite the doctor’s coy jokes, none of it mattered. Not so long as they found Spock.

A quiet, unobtrusive alert sounded from the control panel, to which Kirk swiveled around in his chair and glanced at the small red light. His shoulders rose with a soft inhale of surprise.

He hit the comm.

“Enterprise to the USS Brighton,” said the voice of Lieutenant Scott. Kirk shared a nervous glance with McCoy. Naturally, not a word of their plans was spoken to a single soul, and they had just stolen a shuttlecraft and left the ship alone without a CMO, Captain, or First Officer.

“You think I should answer?” asked Kirk sofly. McCoy almost laughed.

“I mean, yes, probably. The least you could do for those sorry confused souls,” he replied. Kirk nodded, took in another breath, and activated his reply.

“Yeah, Scotty, we’re here.”

“Jim! Are ye alright? An’ the doctor? Was take-off smooth enough?”

“Oh, Scott, we are fine, Scotty, fine. I--listen…” he sighed and looked at an arbitrary button on the board, not really seeing it, and shook his head to himself. “I’m sorry, for leaving you. I wouldn’t have if my faith in you wasn’t so severely strong, I know you are just as capable as myself in that chair, and Scotty, I--”

“Aw, Cap’n, Imma stop you there. If you hadnna left I woulda! We’re thrilled up here on the bridge to know you’ve committed desertion, truly thrilled, Jim,” he boasted back. Kirk chuckled.

“Well, gee, Scott, when you put it like that…”

“Now, list’n Jim...I cannae speak with ya for long, you know. Big Brother is watchin’, n all that. I just need to relay somethin’.”

Kirk straightened his shoulders and sat higher in his seat and nodded to the comm.

“Well go on, Scott. What is it?”

“Well, two things, sir. The first...well, Imma just send it over to ye to listen to yerself. The second thing is that hematology finally ciphered the results of Commander Spock’s blood work.”

McCoy practically dashed up to the co-pilot’s chair and leaned forward so his head was a foot away from the comm, a rogue strand of hair dangling over his hairline.

“Well what did it say, Scotty? Don’t feel free to take your time here!”

“Well, Doctor McCoy,” sighed Scott. “It seems as though the Commander has been infected by the same virus that killed the Lyriian people...” At the sound of the horrified gasps of both men aboard the Brighton, Scott hurriedly added,

“But you see, Doc, the thing is, it’s no’ fatal to him. His Vulcan blood has a wee bit o’ nickel in it, which the virus latched onto, but it seems as though it just is weakinin’ the poor bloke but it isn’ gonna kill him. Now I’m no doctor, an’ I cannae say anythin’ but speculation, but I figure Mr. Spock figured that out before hematology did...”

McCoy scoffed and shook his head and mumbled something about the inadequacy of his least favorite department.

“...an’ I say that because I know the man was havin’ medical snags an’ he isn’ the type to leave that all to chance, is he?”

“No, Scotty, I’m willing to bet you’re right about that,” assured Kirk with a sad expression the acting captain couldn’t see. McCoy slapped the control panel, making Kirk jump.

“Well, Christ, have they found a cure yet?” he almost shouted. Kirk gave him a look and the doctor inhaled through his nose and leaned back in his seat.

“Have they found an antidote, Scotty?” he asked again, clearly having trouble controlling his voice. He heard Scotty exhale loudly on the comm.

“No, sir, they hav’n. They’re workin’ on it.”

“Please, please tell them to hurry their asses up.”

“No, Scotty,” interrupted Kirk. “Don’t say that.”

“Alright, fine,” conceded McCoy. “Tell them to  _ kindly  _ hurry their asses up.”

Kirk rolled his eyes and motioned for McCoy to keep his mouth shut.

“I appreciate the update, Scotty. I really do. Thank you. How is the ship?”

“We’re perfectly great, Jim. Nothing to report. We should reach the starbase in less than three solar days.”

“Good, good...and Kivuli?”

“Ah...Kivuli. She’s pretty distressed, I cannae lie, but Dr. Cierra is takin’ the best care he can for her. We jus’ need to get the Commander back here so we can make her happy again.”

“Undoubtedly, Scotty. We will. Please...let me know if you need me. Or if something happens. Or if--”

“It’s alright, Jim,” Scotty said gently. “We are fine over here. It’s you n` our mates we’re worried about. Get yourself, McCoy, and Commander Spock back here safely, and the ship will be happy.”

“You’re a good man, Scotty.”

“An’ you’re a brave one. The both of you. Sulu is tellin’ me we’re breachin’ five minutes, which is the limit where subspace communication becomes suspicious, so...with that I’ll say, good luck. We’ll be seeing you soon. Enterprise out.”

The audio went static for half a second before disappearing completely. Kirk rubbed his chin and allowed a smile to form on his face. He was truly blessed to have been the captain of such an astonishing ship.

A different alert sounded from the control panel, a calm little  _ bleep _ . The two men locked eyes once more and Kirk palmed the button, allowing the files to be accepted.

“Life-support functions...normal.”

The sudden and unexpected sound of Spock’s calm voice startled both the doctor and the captain, and for a brief, terrible moment, Kirk thought Spock was on the other end of that comm, speaking to him directly. His heart practically burst at the thought of it, but he just as quickly realized what they were listening to.

“Gravitational adjustments at warp 4…” continued the voice, “normal.”

Kirk sunk into his chair as they listened to Spock’s loyal progress report, given and sent to the home ship despite his precarious position. Kirk’s body relaxed and his heart slowed as Spock listed off the observations of the Galileo’s performance, neither of them uttering a word.

It was, in a way, rejuvenating.

Kirk’s heart then began to wake from its calm state and thumped harder as Spock continued. Fury began to bubble in his belly. Wrinkles formed in his brow as his nose grew a snarl.

They would not kill him.

They would not kill him.

They will, not,  _ kill him. _

And as his fingers started to curl around the chair he sat at, his teeth grinding and his mind racing and his anger  _ flowing, _

A strange and random frequency flitted across the radar, hardly perceptively glowing and blinking 3,500 clicks away, and it fogged away and it was gone and Kirk’s angry heart stopped in the most severe way.


	19. Three's Company

The Vulcan knows nothing, Omah’k.

What of the mind ripper?

Our weapons are foolproof, and the mind ripper shows any lie an enemy speaks. He appears to say the truth. He has not broken under it.

He knows something. He does. I know he knows.

If he does, Omah’k, he will not say it. And we will not hear it at the rate of his deterioration.

That’s fine.

...Fine?

Yes.

...But--

The Klingon Empire’s time has come, Lieutenant. No more hiding in shadow, no more cowering behind an invisible, concocted line demanded by the Federation, prowling behind our bars like caged animals. We have been forced into captivity and now...now we go  _ mad _ . If he knows something and takes it to his grave, well that’s just fine. Having that terran creature back would make things easier, more efficient - but we can recreate the virus. His tongue is not gold. Lyro and that dog were phase one, and the Federation is phase two. The death of one of their pedestal Starfleet officers is a warning shot, a mercy play, in fact, and if they’re wise...they’ll heed to it.

Then, despite if he speaks or not, you will kill him?

Absolutely.

\---

“Alright, wherever these coordinates take us, we may end up at a Klingon base or a hide-out. We need to be prepared for both.”

“Jim, if it’s a base, we’re screwed.”

“There’s always a solution, Bones, don’t be so negative.”

“Well enlighten me, Jim! Cause I’m startin’ to worry we're a pair of turkeys walkin’ straight into the oven on Thanksgivin’ day!”

“I don’t know yet Bones, but there is  _ always  _ a way! Always!”

Bones sighed loudly and rubbed his face with his hand, his fingers moving to squeeze the bridge of his nose.

“Well,” he said, “we obviously can’t go in as Starfleet officers.” He sunk into one of the chairs skewered into the wall, back behind the open cockpit. Kirk did the same in the chair across from him.

“I mean, obviously,” Kirk agreed with a wave of his hand. “We could say we're merchants or something. If we’re caught.”

“Or we could say we’re aliens from the galaxy next door. Can’t blame us for not knowing whose territory we were on, right? We were planet hopping, looking for our runaway tribble, and--”

“Think serious, Bones.”

“Jim, my suggestion would get us killed just as quickly as yours would.”

“Your suggestion sounds like a thesis paper written by a 22 year old moon dweller.”

“Now that’s just mean.”

Kirk’s tired face broke into a smile and he laughed. He looked up at his friend.

“Why is it mean? Because you lived on the moon for a few months when you were 22?”

“Uh, I was 24, Jim, and you know that. Now quite knockin’ it like you always do! Many young people did and still do the same thing.”

“Yeah, young people who smoked too much of the herb.”

“You think you’re mighty clever, don’t you?”

“I wasn’t the one on the moon with a bunch of hippies, Bones.”

“Well neither was I. Some of us were there for the experience, not for the very grey and flimsy law standards.”

“Why did you do that?” Jim asked with an amused palm on his cheek. “Didn’t you have to live in an oxygen hut and wear a suit around everywhere?”

“It was an experience, Jim, and I was a mighty adventurer.”

“No, you were recently divorced and maybe a little lost.”

McCoy chuckled. He pursed his lips and nodded a few times.

“Yeah. Maybe you’re right about that.”

“I mean come on,” Jim smiled. “The moon?”

“It was for 3 months, Jim!”

“Alright! Alright!” Kirk dodged a water bottle the doctor hurled at him. “Well, we’re still no closer to a plan, moon man. How are we supposed to find him when we get there?”

“Can’t we intercept Klingon calls?”

“Well...yes, but do you speak Klingon?”

“Use the automated translator.”

“Oh come on, Bones, those things work as well as broken scissors when used over radiowaves, which is exactly the wavelength Klingons use.”

“They’ll catch some bits. Maybe not everything, but, who knows.”

“We’ll give it a shot, but we can’t rely on it. What else?”

“Well, whether it’s a base or a hide-out, they’ll have plenty of their own shuttlecrafts...ours won’t be noticed on their radar. If we can find a place to hide it, that’s part one of the battle.”

“We can’t pretend like that will work, Bones. There may not be a place to hide it.”

“Alright, Jim, listen to me.” McCoy put his elbows on his knees and stared intensely at the captain, his eyes willing him to listen carefully. “We can’t predict everything. We just can’t. I know you want this to go as smoothly as possible, I know it’s a lot of pressure knowing that all three of our lives are on the line here, but we just simply can’t generate a fool-proof plan and think we’ll have it all figured out. That’s crazy talk. We know  _ one  _ thing. One. And that’s his location, or at least the location of where that signal came from. So you need to have some room for hypotheticals, alright? And, hypothetically, we need to hide this machine while we’re away from it.”

“We also know that he is alive.”

“Well, hopefully, Jim, yeah. But how can we know that?”

“He emitted that signal.”

“And how do you know it was him?”

“Because it was one wavelength, and the shortest sensible Klingon message that is able to be transmitted is six wavelengths. They never just emit one. It was him. He had the opportunity, in some way, to emit one wavelength. It’s all he had time for. To let us know where he was. It was him.”

“Alright, it was him. It was him, like you said. And like I’m saying, the first thing we do when we get there is hide this thing. Doesn’t matter if there’s a place to hide it or not, we’re hiding it. Deal?”

“Alright, McCoy. You’re right. We hide it.”

“Groovy. Step two?”

Jim sighed.

“Get in and get out alive, I guess.”

\---

Spock did not speak much Klingon - it was an abrasive, even complicated language, and one he did not find interest in learning when in school.

The Klingon guards whispered something to one another when they walked into the cold and hard room, eyeing Spock and his quite visibly drained state. Spock’s hands and forearms were numb, but he felt their eyes on them. He was not watching them, but knew they were him. He felt their gleeful shock at the shade of Spock’s clammy skin. At his completely enervated, slumped posture against the wall. At the inattentive distance in his very own gaze.

The flexibility of time had stretched so thin, it was as though Spock had never been anywhere else besides that cold hard room. He wondered if Kirk received his signal; he wondered if Kirk was alive. He did not wonder if Kirk was looking for him, for he knew he was, or, that he had been.

The activating of that signal was to condense Jim’s time in Klingon territory, to condense the amount of time his life was in danger. He wondered if instead, it had the opposite effect and delivered Kirk death or capture. Perhaps if the captain was aimlessly wandering Klingon territory, he would have never been found. Perhaps the Klingon’s patrol units wouldn’t have inspected that area. Like a mouse in a forest, whose best interest would be to avoid the hawk’s tree but continue to trail between the trunks of the forest they both presided in, Kirk should have stayed lost.

A heavier thought came upon him as the Klingon guards exited through the door, their voices only hollow sounds now.

How many will die in the war?

Spock found he desperately wished to have a beating heart when the war breaks. He wished to be alongside his planet, Federation, captain, and ship when it happened. To serve them, and help end the violence.

A sharp pang in his side reminded him of the present, and his sight sharpened and the thoughts fluttered away.


	20. Rectify's Skin

It was decided; they would both breach the compound, assuming it was above ground, and together map out the entrance so as to recognize the layout when their escape came. Kirk would stay behind, outside of wherever Spock was being kept, and keep guard while McCoy went in to free him. Should the room be empty, save for the Vulcan captive, McCoy is to send a signal through his earpiece to translate their safety. If it is not empty, and he remains unseen, McCoy retreats to Kirk to strategize their next move. Once Spock is no longer tethered, as he most certainly is, and he’s optimistically well enough for travel, he and McCoy rendezvous with Kirk and the three of them mad dash to the Brighton and get the hell out of dodge. 

It was as firm of a plan they could concoct in terms as loose as they were given.

“What if they’re waiting for us?” asked McCoy softly, his fingers absently tapping the little earpiece in his palm. “What if they know he transmitted that signal, and we’re walking straight into a trap?”

“It is a possibility. I can’t deny that...and I’ve been wondering the same thing. I suppose the best we can do is walk in there with the knowledge that anything, anybody, could be around the next corner. We need to remember that we do not have the element of surprise, that we are not stealthy or swift. The bigger our heads are, the more likely they are to be popped.”

“And Spock? If he’s dead?”

“Then he’s dead, and if we have the time to bring his body back with us, we do it. But I know that he would personally kill me if I risked both of our lives to bring back a body, so we only do it if not a damn Klingon soul is in sight.”

They were both silent then. McCoy drew a stick house in the dust on the console.

“But Bones…” Kirk’s mouth lifted into a smile. “He isn’t dead.”

\---

They came back, as he knew they would.

They came back with the whirring machine, the name of which he could not recall. He just knew it whirred.

They came back less frustrated than before, they came back with laughter at his screams rather than rage at his silence. They came back, and Spock knew that it would be one of the last times they did, for the way they walked and the manner they spoke indicated that somehow, in some development, what they initially wanted from Spock no longer held much importance.

But...they still attempted to force him to speak anyway. One last time, Spock surmised, before they decided it was no longer worth it.

Spock hoped it meant something other than that they retained the desired information from another captured informant. He hoped they simply stopped caring about Kivuli’s location.

The thought of any party from the Enterprise being captured and questioned by Klingons was a devastating one. Quickly, though, Spock dismissed the possibility; Captain Kirk was meticulously courageous and clever, and any person with him, if any, would be safe.

Logically, that was untrue. The bravery and intelligence of any one person cannot denote the outcome of a singular dangerous situation. However, the thought and hope of it gave Spock ease, and so he indulged it.

While the Klingons brutally gave him his hypothetically last questioning, Spock’s mind wandered. He hardly noticed the hitching of his lungs, nor the rawness of his throat, nor the sharp pulsing of his side. Pain was a fascinating thing, wasn’t it? The effects on the body were in tandem with the state of the mind - two dimensions, in a way, connected with one another as though they were hardly separate at all. The brain is affected by pain of the flesh, but the flesh can just as easily be affected by pain of the mind.

He recalled Ensign Mase’s face, weeks ago, before the young man had learnt of the death of his twin sister. He was strong, charismatic, well bodied. And the day, and then the days, that followed such news, and particularly the day Spock took him aside and offered him what few words he could...the boy was sallow, the skin beneath his eyes was dark, the sound of his voice was depleted. The body suffered from the brain’s torment.

Fascinating, how these things work.

Soon after he thought of Ensign Mase, though, Doctor McCoy flitted into his mind. Presently, Spock believed the Klingons had left the room - he wasn’t positive. Regardless, a stone settled in his chest at the thought of the Chief Medical Officer, and he felt that stone more than he felt the ache of weakness.

Spock had known Leonard McCoy for a number of years, and the man was Captain Kirk’s very close friend. Because of this, Spock had become very familiar with McCoy’s personality - he was impulsive, passionate, unfathomably medically talented, sometimes corrosive, and often foul when his emotions came into play.

Spock knew Doctor McCoy did not mean what was said that day in the mess hall. Or perhaps he did - but not in the severity in which it was delivered. But what was said, well, it was, unfortunately, rather impaling for Spock to hear. And after it was heard, it wouldn’t leave Spock’s head, it would bounce around and echo off the walls of his mind and burrow into the visions of his dreams. Spock wanted to tell himself that the sensitivity of these words was caused by the prior incident with Sarek, and thus the migraine, and in an average scenario, it would not have bothered him so.

It would have, though. On any other regular day, it would have bothered him. It was a flaw of his - not the fact that it would have bothered him, but rather the fact that he could not before recognize this. His fierce desire to be emotionless, to be unaltered by anything, to force his heart to pump blood and do nothing else, is what led the altercation to the aggression it became. Yet it did not matter now, because Spock was cold to the doctor and the last interaction he had with the man was sourly negative, and rectification was far, far behind him, settling into dust and burrowing under ground where it would remain until the end of his limited life.

He hoped, then, that the doctor did not think too ill of him, and that he would remember him for things other than their disdained and acidic words. He hoped, then, that those words would not overcome their previous banters, which were always lined with camaraderie and well intentioned competitiveness. That those words would not suffocate the mutual respect the two of them once shared, or the knowledge of the many times Spock saved his life and the many more times McCoy saved his...this is what Spock hoped.

His vision was narrowing, blurring around the edges, and he felt his heartbeat in his ears.

Spock hoped death looked like the lights of the Enterprise, moving across the blackness of the sometimes frightening and intimidating abyss of space, like a guardian of comfort and exploration.

Death was exploration, and one of the few things Spock embraced, was this.


	21. Ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the delay, guys. I wish I could have posted this sooner, but I truly just don't have as much freetime as I used to. Which is actually great, because I love my work, but I miss my hobbies too. Anyway, I thank you so so much for your patience. You guys truly make it worth it, and I love writing for myself and my readers. And please, always know, I will never abandon a piece. And I read every single comment, even if I don't reply to all of them. I used to be much better, but back then I had more time - I'll try to be better, because if you're kind enough to leave me a note, I should return the favor.   
> But again, know that I read them all and they always warm my heart, no matter their content. I don't even know you or what you look like, but damn if I don't love you all!   
> Thanks for reading. I mean that...thank you. LLAP <3

“Turn the damn lights off, Jim!” McCoy growled anxiously as he glanced out the window. He heard Kirk puff behind him.

“I’m trying! I’m trying! This shuttle had an electrical update, I can’t figure out how to enforce a black-out!” he replied hastily, his fingers feathering over the console with uncertainty. “Damn, I need to get my ass down to Engineering more often, I’m getting behind on this crap.” Finally, McCoy just turned around and slapped his hand out of the way, shooting his finger out in front of a button.

“Try this one!”

“Don’t touch it, Bones! You’re gonna combust the ship or something!”

“This one has a little kite on it! Look! Press it!”

“That’s not a kite, Bones, it’s a diamond or something!”

“The bloody hell it isn’t, look here at the string! Some cadet engineer thought it’d be funny to put a Ben Franklin kite on the button instead of a dagum lightbulb, I’m tellin’ ya, it’s this one! Jim, you better turn these blasted things off before a patrol ship comes over and shuts ‘em off for us!”

“Fine fine fine! Agh!” Kirk yelled this, but still he hovered over the mystery button without action. McCoy leaned over and forced Kirk’s hand down with his own on top; he felt the  _ click  _ of the button, and suddenly everything was dark. The lights had dissipated so quickly that with the rich blackness of the universe combined with the absence of light in the ship, the two men’s eyes could only register darkness. It was almost as though they’d locked themselves in the middle of a mountain, the surrounding rock so thick and dense that not a particle of light could penetrate the walls.

Soon, though, their eyes adjusted and little twinkling dots appeared one by one out the window, and the spherical shape of a dwarf planet with yellow and orange lights showing company came into view. They fidgeted their radio to find the Klingon comms, to hear anything, any clue, any sign, but it was all but useless. Kirk popped a disappointed fist down on the communication button.

The camp was an outpost, at least. Kirk thanked the stars for this, because truthfully, had it been a base, he and McCoy would probably be dead already. He looked over at McCoy’s face, whose eyes were stone in anticipation of the near future. His skin looked a shade of translucent blue; the bounce of the universe’s natural dark glow. The doctor turned his head to meet Kirk’s eyes, and they knew they were ready.

The yellow and orange lights of the Klingon compound were the only lights on the small planet, leading them to believe the remainder of the planet was empty. They brought their craft down below to the lights, breaching the thin atmosphere without disruption or sound. The Brighton skimmed the surface as it neared the compound, it`s low hum bleeding into the whine of the wind. The men strained to see in the darkness. There was no nearby star, nova, or nebula to provide light; that which guided them was only the supreme guidance technology of the shuttle. They brought the craft to the edge of the camp, landing it carefully behind thick, dark brush, and listened to the sound of silence. Even if a Klingon was standing 10 meters in front of them, that Klingon would not see the shuttle. That being said...they themselves would not see the Klingon.

Quickly, his blood pumping and his eyes wide with hope, Kirk entered several specifications into the lifeform locator. It pinged quietly as it searched, and then as a bead of cold sweat dropped down Kirk’s neck, about 20 little dots decorated the image.

19 were brown, and one was red. All 20 dots were restricted to the compound area. Both McCoy and Kirk cracked smiles and released their held breath at the sight of it - Spock was alive.

“Think we can handle 19 armed Klingons?” muttered McCoy with a self-aware laugh. Kirk returned the laugh and nodded his head a few times.

“If all 19 Klingons don’t see us, then yeah, I think we’ll be just fine. So let’s just not be seen, alright?”

“He seems to be in some kind of cell, or a room. There’s nobody in his near vicinity...probably no guards. They don’t think he’ll escape...no need to post any soldiers. If we’re silent, take it one corner at a time, we might actually make it.”

“We’re gonna make it.”

“Well, let’s get rockin’, then.”

Swiftly, they holstered their phasers and opened the door of the shuttle. The chill of the thin alien air hit their faces first, slapping them with shocking bitterness. McCoy winced at the bite.

He looked back and saw the hardly visible outline of the shuttle, tucked away in the dark. He studied the area as swiftly and as efficiently as possible, memorizing the outline of the massive boulder that sat behind the shuttle and counting the stars and their positions directly above them. He wasn’t sure, but McCoy thought he saw a dying star shoot out like a marble and then disappear into the dark. Kirk whistled at him quietly, and with a lasting look, McCoy quickly scuttled over to him and together they hustled towards the lights.

There were three buildings, one of which was a hanger for the Klingon crafts. Kirk gulped at the fleeting thought that should the Klingons choose to check their machine radar, they’d see a craft sitting like a blatant outlier in the dark fields. He shooed the thought away; they were rescuing Spock, regardless of anything else. Thinking of possible avenues of failure was only a waste of brainpower.

The two of them skirted behind the hanger, sandwiched between the uninhabited fields and the very much inhabited camp. They heard voices, voices of soldiers chatting quietly on the other side of the metal sheet that separated them. Everything else was so silent, so still, that McCoy didn’t even dare scratch the itch on his face.

Kirk stepped smoothly to the end of the hanger, their backs now to the field and the rest of the compound ahead of them. He peeked around slowly, allowing only one eye to be revealed to the open camp. The smallest building, about the size of the bridge of the Enterprise, was about 30 meters away. The other building, about twice the size, was 15 meters to the left of that one. There were four lightposts cornered around, stuck loosely in the dirt, dimly lighting the dust and the walkways and nothing more. It oddly reminded Kirk of an old western movie, of a town small and shaggy and barely lit. With some dread, though, Kirk knew this was no film.

The building they were leaning against was a hanger, that much they knew. That meant that the other two were either the soldiers quarters or the headquarters. There were 19 soldiers, and Klingon’s were not a generous race - the smallest building, Kirk concluded, was room enough for 19 sleeping men.

His eyes traveled to the left, to the other shacky building, and he felt his skin prickle. Spock was in there. He knew it.

He looked back at McCoy and motioned for him to look for himself, mouthing the words “ten o’clock”. McCoy took his place at the edge of the metal sheet, directed his eyes to the building that lay at the coordinates Kirk just gave him, and nodded his understanding. He ran his thumb absent-mindedly over the hilt of his phaser.

The ground beneath them was soft, absorbing the light impacts of their swift feet. They kept to the darkness, shuffling around the light and blending into the rest of the unoccupied land. They were halfway to the building, with Kirk’s mind so focused that it was though only a single tunnel of thought had ever existed in his brain.

They heard the unmistakable creak of a door, and they immediately dropped to a flinching crouch. McCoy thought his heart stopped. He felt the dirt dig into the palm of his hand.

With wide eyes, they watched a Klingon depart the quarters building and drag over to the hanger. His feet thumped carelessly across the way while dust floated up behind him. He soon disappeared into the metal building, absolutely and completely unaware of the two human men hardly 12 meters away.

Despite the jarring fright the moment gave them, it was not for nothing. When the door of the soldier’s quarters swung open and the soldier stepped out, they saw that inside that building lay several other soldiers, many sleeping while others walked around chowing food or folding uniforms.

It was the end of the work day. This, they then hoped, meant that the headquarters they were creeping towards would be largely empty. They knew Spock wasn’t being directly guarded, or so it definitely appeared on the radar - perhaps if luck was on their side, the building itself would be totally void of the damning Klingons.

Finally, after what seemed like an agonizing amount of time, they came upon their destination. They stopped at the edge of the shadows, not yet stepping into the light. Kirk looked back at McCoy and tapped at his ear, raising his eyebrows in a question. McCoy answered with a tap of his ear too, nodding. The earpieces were small and most importantly, hands free. Communicators were always the preferred method of communication, being more clear, effective, long-distance, and performing multiple functions, but in times of battle, they were cumbersome. With only a tap on the ear, the two men could correspond while still having hands on their weapons. It was, truly, invaluable.

Kirk ran his eyes over the small camp, concluded everything was still, and led he and McCoy quickly into the building. The few seconds they were in the light felt like fire on their bodies.

Kirk entered first, slipping into the building with his weapon drawn and ready to fire. McCoy followed suit, hardly a step behind him, and the door closed with a quiet click.

The area was empty. There was some form of a bulletin hanging off the wall, with text of a foreign language covering the papers. Kirk breathed heavily through his nose as he willed his arm to lower. They were, at the moment, alone.

Still, though, they dared not speak.

McCoy took the lead. He spun around the next corner with his knee against the ground, ensuring his body was at a low and unexpected level should there be a visitor on the other side.

Again, they were alone. The eeriness of the abandoned halls did not go unnoticed, but the chill it gave both men could only be ignored.

Down the first hall were a few doors as well as other halls, branching off in different directions like a small maze. The doctor heeled slowly to it, nodded at Kirk, and ventured down the path. As per the plan, Kirk stayed at the base of the hall and kept his weapon drawn while McCoy inspected the spaces. He awaited a signal from McCoy.

McCoy pointed the phaser at eye level while his free hand grasped the first door handle. Slowly, with his heartbeat in his ears, he opened it. Only darkness greeted him, as if a black blanket had taken the place of a room.

He knew he needed to check every room, dark or not. His heart pounded harder at the thought that this room may be a sleeping quarters for the high brass. What if he shines his light directly onto the face of a sleeping officer?

It didn’t really matter, because he was going to check anyway. He had to. Without indulging too much thought into it any longer, he clicked the light on his phaser and shone its beam into the room, floating it across in a straight line. He swallowed his nerves, for it was only a communications room, and there was no Vulcan.

He stepped back into the hallway, and shifted down to the next door.

There were three rooms in that hallway, and all were disappointingly empty. With fraying anxiety, he stepped back to the base and gave Kirk the signal that Spock was not here. The signal was just a shake of his head.

They crept to the next hallway.

Soon after McCoy stepped into the first room, which was a dark and crowded storage area, he heard the terrible slam of a door and distant clicking of boots. His stomach lurched into his throat and he swiftly flung his back against the wall, keeping his phaser close to his chest while he willed his breath to be silent. He flexed his ear, listening, but the boots clicked further and further away until their sound was no longer heard.

His hand quivering only slightly, McCoy looked into the hallway from which he just came and peeked down to where Kirk was. The captain was pressed against the wall, peering out into the main hallway near him, but his body was not tense. He turned and locked eyes with the doctor, nodded his head to show the coast was clear, and looked back to the hall. It seemed as though, by some miracle, they continued to go unfound by the enemy.  With a deep inhale, McCoy continued to the next room. And then the next room. And the next.

With each empty room, the hope that was lit in the man’s belly shrunk. Like a ball of white fire, it faltered with each increasingly Spock-less space. It was not an overly large building - if the Vulcan was not here, the hopes of finding him would be all but gone. It was a thing McCoy knew he could not live with.

He retreated back to Kirk, and saw the captain reading the growing worry in his eyes. Kirk gave the medkit on McCoy’s back an encouraging tap, as if to say there was a patient out there who needed them. One that was lost, and one they would find. With the smallest nod, McCoy led them to the next hall.

There were no rooms in this hallway, but only another hallway, down at the end. It swung to the right, but McCoy could not see what lay beyond it. McCoy clenched his jaw nervously - please, he hoped, let there be a room down that one. He did not wish to venture so far from the main hall without prize.

As he turned the corner, he looked back at Kirk crouching guard at the base of the first hall. McCoy took a step forward, now no longer able to see him around the corner, and suddenly felt very alone.

Straining his ear, listening to the thin air, McCoy knew the corridor to be empty. He touched his earpiece, and said in the quietest whisper,

“There was a second hallway...I’m checking it out. Hang tight.”

He tapped it again to force it mute, and continued forward to the first of four rooms. The first room did not have a handle, but it was rather just a push door. McCoy applied pressure with his shoulder and swung the door open and stepped inside. Before his eyes even fully adjusted, before he knew where he was, he felt his skin prickle coldly.

Silver tables lined the walls, open boxes sitting atop them. Hooks with hanging equipment decorated the room; guns, knives, strange sticks that reflected the light in the hallway. There was a shelf that sported at least ten small, cylindrical objects that had some strange rotating wires sprouting out the top like claws. It was the first room McCoy was grateful Spock wasn’t in. Rather swiftly, he backed himself into the swing door and returned to the hall.

He looked down the hallway, and eyed the third room, rubbing his neck as he pulled forward towards it. It caught his attention, even though he hadn’t even looked in the second room. He didn’t even bother with the second...it was almost invisible to him. As he neared it, he knew this room was different from the others. The paint at the bottom of the door was scratched, as if a cat had tried to claw a fly out from the wood. There was a small vent to the right of the door, sitting strangely by itself in a somewhat illogical position, but the doctor could only see darkness on the other side. McCoy’s eyebrows pressed together. Something uneasy coiled in his belly. He wrapped his hand around the door handle...

It opened silently. McCoy stood there for a moment, alone with his breath, before he peered at the vent from inside the room, curious of its purpose. It seemed rather ordinary, besides it's peculiar placement. As McCoy studied it, though, he soon noticed that next to it was a worn light switch.

He flipped it on.

A terribly faded light came from a hanging lamp above him, and McCoy looked up at it questionably. It seemed rather inefficient. His eyes came down from looking up at it, and every part of his body froze. Even his thoughts came to a halt. He forgot all about that hanging lamp and bizarre vent, and had he the notion to think about it, he’d probably forgotten his own name.

The outline of a body was pressed against the far wall, and McCoy knew it was him. He knew it. He staggered forward as if he were struck, and whispered,

“Spock?”

There was no answer, though the body seemed to shift with the soft crinkle of chains following. McCoy then took several large, gracious steps over until he was close enough to identify, and yes, sure enough as the sun was bright, it was Spock.

McCoy did not have even a second of joy, though, for the moment he could identify him was the moment he could truly see him. McCoy dropped to one knee as he ran his wide eyes over the Vulcan.

He was remarkably pale. His skin seemed gray, and there was dark blood clotted in his hair from a wound that sat on the corner of his hairline. His hands hung, chained to the wall above him, with his wrists green in wound. The worst, though, was the vacancy in his eyes as they came up to look at the doctor.

“Spock...I’m going to get you out of here.” He quickly tapped his earpiece. “Jim...I found him. He’s in a bad way, but I think he might be well enough to walk. I need to get him out of these chains. Get ready to book it once we get to you.” He tapped the piece again and dropped his hand.

“Spock...do you see me?”

“Oh, I do.”

“...I...I, do you know who I am?”

“You appear to be Doctor Leonard McCoy.” His voice was void of emotion. Not in the Spock way, but in a robotic, inhumane, invulcane, almost dead way.

“Well are you really so behooved to see me?” McCoy scoffed. He was so jarred by Spock’s voice that he retreated to disdain, but even his disdain was dripping with worry.

“I feel nothing to that which is not real.”

The doctor then stared at him for several moments, allowed the sentence to register, and finally felt his heart sink to his feet.

“Spock...I’m, I’m not a hallucination. I’m here, I’m really here. Jim is too, we came for you.”

Spock said nothing and let his eyes slip away to stare at the wall. Impulsively, McCoy grabbed Spock’s shoulders and shook them.

“You need to pull it together, Spock, I need you here, in this moment, or else we may not make it back!” He quickly dropped his hands like rocks when Spock hissed in pain.

“Sorry,” McCoy blubbered in a stutter, running his eyes over him once more. He had never really heard Spock make that sound. Spock just blinked rapidly and looked up at McCoy in a new way, in an incredulous way with a small light in his eye.

“You  _ are  _ here…” he concluded to himself remarkably. His voice finally began to sound like Spock, but it was still soft and weak. McCoy nodded.

“Yeah, Spock, I am. Are you?”

“I...was beginning to lose myself. I believe you and Jim have...although...”

“Are there any keys for these cuffs?” He chose to ignore the floatiness in Spock’s words.

“No, not that I am aware of. But Doctor...I fear they may return at any time.”

“Well I guess we’d better get a move on.” McCoy brought his phaser up to his eyes, straining to see in the dim light, and adjusted the settings. “Christ, Spock, you sound like shit.”

“I…” Spock paused, and McCoy looked up at him. The absence of color in his skin and the way Spock hung his head gave McCoy great concern, and he scooted closer, probably to assure both of them. He raised his phaser and activated the thin laser onto the right cuff. He heard the protest of the Klingon metal as the laser bit into it.

“What have they done to you?” asked McCoy gently. Something shiny caught his eye, and he quickly stopped lasering. There was something unsavory on Spock’s ribcage. The laser retreated back into the phaser and McCoy inhaled sharply through his nose at the sight of something glossy, something McCoy couldn’t quite see but he was beginning to smell, there on Spock’s side.

It smelled like copper.

He reached a hand out and touched the fabric of Spock’s shirt. His fingers returned to him green and slick. Beginning to truly see the fragility of Spock’s condition, he immediately returned to lasering the right cuff off with more haste than he had before.

“Spock…” he managed. “What happened?”

“I was injured in the crash.” He looked up quickly and McCoy inched back at his expression, possibly because it was the first facial expression he’d made. “The dog?”

“She’s OK, Spock...Spock, what else have they done? You’re spacey, and...and off. I know there’s something else.”

Like a whip, the voices of Klingon men outside the room cut through the air. Their boots stomped closely, and suddenly McCoy felt like he needed to vomit.  _ No...no, not now. No, not now! _

“Doctor, you must conceal yourself.”

“Spock, I’m getting you out of here.”

“Leonard,” his voice was razor sharp, a sharp contrast to what it sounded like moments before. “Please,  _ hide!  _ Your sighting will result in the loss of all three of us. Please,” the boots growled to a halt outside the door, “please,  _ go.” _

His stomach in violent knots, McCoy pressed his lips together and stared at Spock for several moments. Finally, he stood and sprinted to the back corner of the room and slid behind several empty crates. He barely managed to bring himself to a crouch before the door opened.

“Well, Commander? Have you reconsidered your position?” asked the Klingon. There was only one, but...McCoy knew he had heard more than one voice. He desperately wanted to comm his captain, to ensure the man’s safety and security, but it would be suicide. He kept silent.

Spock, too, said nothing. McCoy thought he heard the Klingon chuckle very, very softly.

“This is your last chance, Commander. In fact, I had to convince the head council to give me one more shot at you. You should thank me.”

“As since I’ve been in your capture, I continue to have no information of what you seek.”

“As your disgusting human friends would say, ‘ _ bullshit’,”  _ he snapped back. McCoy brought his eye to rest between two planks of wood in the crate, his vision a sliver. He saw the Klingon step forward to where Spock was and crouch down to his level. The Klingon brought a hand up and seemed to stroke the far side of Spock’s head, with his hand clenched loosely as if there was something resting in his palm. McCoy felt a shiver go down his spine. He wanted to rip his atrocious hand off and fling it away from Spock’s head.

“Tell me…” the Klingon cooed. Spock tensed ever so slightly, and the doctor heard the Klingon exhale in disappointment.

Then he heard Spock scream.

Truly scream.

His head was rigid against the hard wall, the weak veins in his neck popping as his voice ricocheted off the room. At the first note of Spock’s cry, McCoy’s body went absolutely solid. His eyes froze, his blood curled, his heart stopped, the air in his lungs evaporated and for a moment, he did not feel human. His skin felt as though a million microscopic bugs peeled under his flesh and nested into his skeleton.

He watched, horrified, as Spock twitched and yelled and the Klingon laughed over the noise. Spock couldn’t catch his breath, but whatever pain was upon him wouldn't allow him to stop screaming and for a wrenching moment, McCoy thought Spock was going to die right there in front of him.

But then, without thought or plan, McCoy felt his muscles stand and step out from the crates. It was like his body did his bidding, rather than his mind, for he had no conscious control. He just stood. And he bellowed a word at the top of his lungs, a word he would never remember saying, just a word, any word, to make the Klingon stop.

Well, the Klingon did stop. And the Klingon whirled around in absolute surprise, his face already contorted in disbelief and anger, and the small cylindrical object in his palm fell but then the large weapon on his belt rose and together the Klingon and the Chief Medical Officer brought their guns up and fired at one another


	22. When They Converge

In one electrifying blast, the opposing weapons discharged and Spock stopped screaming. Two fell; Spock, slumped against the wall, and the Klingon onto the hard floor.

McCoy didn’t even allow himself a single second to reflect before bolting over to Spock, who now looked like a phantom of the Vulcan the doctor once knew.

“Spock! Hey, hey, come on, look at me!” he commanded. Spock was not unconscious, but he was not, in any regard, well. He was breathing heavily, his chest heaving and rising and falling sporadically like an engine trying desperately to spur awake. His eyes were clenched shut; the rim of his shirt was damp with sweat. McCoy sheathed his phaser and swiftly swung the medkit off his back.

“Christ, Spock,” his voice cracked, “keep awake. Keep awake.”

He opened the pack, rummaged around, then finally stopped and stared dumbly at it’s contents. He realized he had a choice to make: take the time to patch Spock up as best he could...or not, and get them all out as quickly as possible. Well, he supposed first, what has happened to Spock? Could he even be treated with the items in the medkit?

McCoy’s eyes flicked to the stunned body behind him, and to the object in his hand. It was a Klingon mind ripper, a weapon illegal in the United Federation of Planets for it’s inhumane and torturous components. McCoy’s eyes widened slightly. He felt a mild burn of anger. He tapped his ear.

“Jim, I need you to come to us. I need your help.” He left it at that and tapped the piece mute. He sighed deeply, stared once more at the kit, and closed it.

“Alright, Spock, that asshole Klingon is out, so all I need to do is get you out of these. So, please, keep awake. Tell me who that Klingon was.”

He took to lasering at that cursed cuff, which was still only three quarters of the way spliced, and hoped for Spock’s answer.

“Leonard…” came a calm whisper.

“Yeah, Spock?”

“I...want to, to make amends.”

“Nah, we’ll bicker about it on the ship, okay?”

“The ship…” His voice was hardly audible, and the clenching of his eyes was so soft it was like they were no longer clenched but merely closed. His body was relaxed, the engine was shutting down, and the only thing keeping him upright were his chained wrists.

“ _ Spock, dammit! _ ”

He finally heard the  _ chink  _ of the cuff releasing itself, and McCoy was hit with the sudden weight of the fading Vulcan. Spock’s other bound hand kept him half lifted, anchoring him to the room, but he was almost entirely fallen on McCoy’s shoulder and chest. Even through the fabric of his shirt, the doctor felt the chill that surrounded Spock’s body. He grunted under the weight. He needed to reach that last cuff, just barely out of reach behind the dense body it was trapping...he stretched, but it was too far. He feared he may splice Spock’s hand off and force him into shock. He cursed out loud, his frustration building, but it was soon forgotten at the sound of the door behind him slamming open. He spun around violently.

His phaser was pointed right at Jim’s chest.

“Easy, Bones!”

“Jim!” His voice was coated in relief. “Come here, quickly.”

Within a moment Kirk was there, and fear was soon written in his features.

“Oh, my God…”

“Jim, hold him. I need to cut this thing off his wrist.”

Jim just nodded and scooted under Spock, easing him to rest instead on his own shoulder. McCoy escaped to the Vulcan’s other side and quickly lifted the phaser to the cuff.

“He’s barely awake, Jim, don’t let him sleep.”

“Bones, you said he could walk!”

“Just keep him awake, Jim!” he yelled back loudly.

“Spock,” tried Kirk. “Spock, I’m so sorry we took so long.” McCoy saw something wet tease in Kirk’s eyes. “But we are here now, and we’re leaving, so open those eyes and tell me you understand.”

There was barely a mumble, but nevertheless, it was a sign.

“I can’t hear you, Spock,” pushed Kirk. “Bring your consciousness forward and speak clearly.”

“Captain…”

“Mmhm, good, keep waking yourself up. I know your mind is trained well enough to control your consciousness. Tell me you understand what I’m saying.”

“I do…” His voice was a feather.

“You do what?”

“I understand, Jim.”

“So open your eyes! Now!” Kirk barked this like a command, and the severity of it made even McCoy jump.

McCoy willed the phaser to cut faster, fearing the delay would cost dearly, but out of the corner of his eye he saw Spock slowly open his own. For the first time in a while, McCoy silently thanked Spock’s dog-like obedience to the captain, for it may be the thing that would save all three of their asses.

“Almost there…” McCoy growled as the laser inched closer to the end. Finally, slowly, it sliced past the metal, releasing it’s prisoner, and Spock began to fall like an anvil. McCoy quickly grabbed him so he wouldn’t smother Jim, hoisted an arm over his shoulder, and as if they were attached to a string, he and the captain stood together and began to book it to the exit with the Vulcan dragging between them.

Just as they reached the middle of the room, to the humans’ great horror, an unexpecting Klingon pushed past the door. The towering soldier stopped immediately, his stance frozen, as the door closed behind him. He looked at the draping Vulcan, then at the two men holding him, and snarled. His teeth bared and he shot his hand for the weapon at his waist.

In one swift movement, McCoy dunked Spock to the floor in a barrel roll while Kirk dove and shot back at the Klingon. The dark room lit up in the fire.

“Get back to the shuttle, Bones!” yelled Kirk as he fired another shot.

“I’m not leaving you, Jim! We came here with two, and we’re leaving with three!”

“No one’s going anywhere!” yelled the Klingon with rage. He quickly brought his radio up to his mouth, but McCoy obliterated it with his phaser fire. The mass of muscle Klingon turned his back to Kirk and fired at the doctor, who was still trying desperately to lift Spock by himself, but the shot bounced off the floor just inches from him. McCoy cried out in surprise and covered Spock’s head, his phaser clanking to the ground.

“I’m the Captain of a starship, Klingon!” Kirk shouted back. “Am I not enough prize?”

“I am Omah’k,” the Klingon growled dangerously. “That Vulcan is mine. And nobody steals from me.”

He fired another shot at McCoy, but the human was slightly more prepared this time. He barely dodged it and lunged clumsily for his phaser. He clenched his body, expecting another shot from the soldier, but the shot didn`t come. He looked up to see the enemy’s back. The Klingon had forgotten him and was moving like a train towards Kirk and showed no sign of slowing. The Klingon tackled Kirk, threw a punch that landed on his jaw, and turned to shoot back at McCoy. He turned and dusted Kirk again, dodged McCoy’s shot, turned and shot at McCoy, swung down and lacerated Kirk’s nose, dodged a shot - he was a well-oiled machine, hitting every beat and throwing every punch and tango-ing every fire from the doctor’s phaser. This was not just a Klingon soldier, but rather a weapon.

The door was right there. McCoy could leave, he knew that. His captain ordered him to. It was becoming harder and harder to dodge the shots from the Klingon while simultaneously shooting back, and he was afraid all three of them would lose their lives. He should take Spock, drag him if necessary, and run. It was the logical, maybe even right, thing to do.

He only considered it for two seconds before setting Spock down.

Just as Omah’k turned to land a fist on Kirk`s face, McCoy pushed Spock as far away as he could and bolted across the room. Omah’k was turning to take a shot at where he once thought McCoy and Spock were, but McCoy slid behind him and fired. Omah’k, with impressive speed, ducked it once more. Though the shot did not find it’s mark, it gave Kirk a window - he threw the back end of his fist into the Klingon’s temple and shoved him off with all the strength he could muster. The two of them scrambled back up to their feet and raised their weapons, all three of them panting heavily, but though Kirk and McCoy’s phasers were pointed at the Klingon, the Klingon’s was pointed across the room.

\--- --- ---

“Shoot me, and my finger automatically taps the trigger,” hissed Omah’k. “He’s laying completely still, I won’t miss.”

Kirk licked the blood from the corner of his mouth and shook his head.

“I will destroy you,” he threatened back with hot breath.

“Pull the trigger, then, Captain,” Omah’k goaded. “Shoot me. Let’s see what happens.”

“Why did you want him? Why did you take him?”

“Why do you think I will discuss anything with humans?”

“If you let us leave, peacefully, I can negotiate your sentence with Starfleet.”

At that, the Klingon laughed. “Starfleet?” he laughed with a choke. “Starfleet cannot touch me.”

Kirk saw something move out of the corner of his eye, something across the room. He didn’t take his eyes off the Klingon, not for a second, but the same movement persisted. It was Spock, stirring, and possibly attempting to stand.

“Starfleet condemns war crimes, Omah’k,” Kirk answered sharply. “You are not immune.”

Spock staggered to his feet, and his head was low, as if he were holding it. Kirk could not tell.

“Starfleet will soon mean nothing.” Omah’k said this coolly, with the violence in his voice gone. It was as if he were simply stating the weather.

“What the hell does that mean?”

Spock was moving, perhaps even walking. He seemed closer; he was coming towards them.

If Omah’k saw his approach, Kirk knew, he would kill him.

“It means I care nothing about your Starfleet threats.”

“Why do you despise Starfleet so much?” He needed to keep his attention. “We’re an organization of peace and knowledge; of curious exploration.”

“Ha!” spat Omah’k. “Curious exploration? You interfere with Klingon business, you attempt to regulate what is not yours, and believe you own the galaxy. Well you are so intimately wrong, Captain. Your precious ideals, your waste of territory, your codes and invaders are on a time bomb, do you understand me? I will be charged with nothing, because Starfleet  _ is nothing _ .”

“We would not regulate righteous behavior, Omah’k!” he objected passionately. A familiar surge of animosity filled him. “Injecting an Earth dog with a catastrophic and enveloping virus, and  _ murdering  _ an entire civilization of innocent beings, is  _ NOT _ righteous behavior!” The veins in his neck were popping, his face was red. He remembered the scene of bodies littering the floor of Lyro. Families, and children. In his vision of the sick, merciless, life-taking enemy before him, he soon forgot anyone else was in the room.

“It makes you a coward!” he hollered powerfully. “It makes you and the people you work for weak, and primal in every way! You are not better than us, you are  _ lower.  _ The people of Kronos have potential, and there is wisdom in them, but it’s the people like you, the Klingons who wear a rank and carry a weapon and control the planet, who are shivering ants, marching along in a world so much bigger than you that you can’t even comprehend it’s meaning! You are holding your people back with your shallow intelligence!”

“Where is that dog?!” Omah’k screamed. His phaser quivered as he twitched with mania. “I want that dog back, human! I want that dog back!” His voice was shredded, brimming with madness and loss of control, and it was filled with savage threat.

“The government of Kronos is under Federation charges! You will be tried and sentenced due to your crimes, as will every Klingon involved with the massacre of the Lyriian people, and I personally will shove you into that cell and lock the door to watch you repent!”

Omah’k bellowed in rage. He swung his arm up with lightning speed, the barrel of the weapon pointed directly at Kirk’s chest, but something spun him around completely until Kirk was staring at the sweat on the back of Omah’k’s neck. It was Spock, standing directly in front of Omah’k with his hand positioned at the base of the soldier’s shoulder.

Everything was quite still for several moments. Spock simply stared at Omah’k, calmly, with an expression Kirk was unable to read. Omah’k glared back. Something was exchanged between the two, in the air between them, and no one knew the transcript except for they -- and then Spock pinched his fingers and Omah’k crumpled to the floor.


	23. Escape

Spock wavered and both Kirk and McCoy shot out a hand to steady him.

“I do believe I will need...assistance, in walking.”

McCoy quickly slithered his arm under Spock’s, raising it to rest on his shoulders. The Vulcan was heavy, but to McCoy’s relief, he was awake and ultimately standing on his own. McCoy looked at him.

“Are you sure you can walk?”

“Yes.”

Kirk moved to go to Spock’s other side, but Spock raised his hand to halt him.

“No, Captain,” he breathed. “We need someone with their weapon drawn.”

Kirk glanced down at the unconscious Klingon. Flexing his jaw, he nodded.

“You’re right. We’re gonna move fast.”

“Well,” McCoy objected, “not too fast, Jim, he’s seriously injur--”

“It doesn’t matter,” Kirk interrupted quickly, turning to face him. “We can’t take another run-in. Our priority is to get out, and if you have to drag him--” he looked to Spock, then looked away, “--you do it. I’ll keep my phaser ready, but because you’re Spock’s crutch, you set the speed. And it needs to be as fast as you physically can go. Not how fast Spock can go, but how fast  _ you _ can go with Spock on you. Go it?”

McCoy swallowed hard and shared a look with Spock. Spock answered his look with a nod. It was consent to whatever may soon follow.

“Alright.”

“Let’s go.”

Kirk stepped away and opened the door. McCoy took his first step with Spock, and very quickly had to buckle his knees when Spock staggered.

“Tell me if it’s too much, Spock,” he implored deeply. He felt Spock shake his head.

“We need to leave,” he whispered in a slight strain. “It does not matter.”

“I can’t push you to the point of you passing out, Spock, that’s crazy--”

“But you must, or it will cost us. Treat me on the ship, and do not be concerned with my well-being until then.”

The thought of harming Spock gave McCoy great anxiety. Administering pain was not in his nature, and knowing that the Vulcan had already gone through hell...well, it only further went him.

Jim stepped into the hall and looked back at them, nodding for McCoy to bring Spock out. McCoy was hesitant, unsure, nervous...but he knew his captain was right. He took several swift steps, Spock barely able to keep up with him, until he was right behind Jim. As soon as they arrived in the hall, Kirk continued stealthily down it, raising his phaser at every corner. There wasn’t even a second to rest, and McCoy and his patient dragged after him as quickly as they could go. McCoy kept his grip on Spock’s wrist and waist, muscling through carrying half of his weight, and counted the steps one by one.

They made it down the two hallways until they were spat back out to the main hall. Kirk kept his posture low as he ran down it. The hallway was long. Spock’s breathing turned sharp and heavy, but his legs continued to move. He was heavy against McCoy, and his steps were clumsy, but he did not stop or blanche. McCoy felt the first officer’s ribcage inflate with every breath, but the jagged rhythm of it concerned the doctor greatly. McCoy considered that he should slow his pace, that he was pushing Spock too far, but the prodding of the dark building they ran down sharply reminded him of the position they were in. Of the violent, enemy territory they were invading. Luxurious such as pace or rest were incomprehensible.

Get to the shuttle, McCoy reminded himself. That’s all that matters. Do not stop. Do not slow. Move.

Finally they made it to the front door. McCoy felt his shirt dampen with sweat, his own body as exhausted as Spock’s, and in the moment they had to stop for Kirk to open the door he took in several grateful breaths. The door open silently, and it invited in a rush of cool air that flowed over McCoy’s sweating body kindly.

Kirk looked back at him. They spared only a single moment to nod at one another, and they stepped into the night.

The yard was empty, the sky was silent. They heard the crunching of their footsteps. They ducked behind the building and found their way into the shadows. If they could stay in the shadows, Kirk reasoned, they would be safe. Stay in the shadows.

They followed the circle of light, standing on the side of blackness, until they reached the back spot their craft was parked near. Spock’s legs continued to work, but his entire upper body was being supported by McCoy. He was beginning to sway and stumble.

“I swear we’re almost there,” McCoy whispered encouragingly. Spock did not answer.

“Bones,” came Kirk’s voice. It was now so dark they could barely see each other. Everything beyond the camp was just blackness, an event horizon that captured whatever dared beyond it. “Where did we land?”

“Under Lupus, straight down the middle. About ¼ click down.”

Their feet crunched only a few more times before the piercing sound of an alarm split the air. It screamed loudly, awakening the soldiers in the camp and freezing the three fugitives that attempted to escape them.

“Oh shit,” cursed McCoy.

“Run, Bones. Run, now.”

McCoy heard the quick crunch of Kirk’s strides, and he too quickly shot he and Spock further into the blackness. Running in the dark, hearing the thumps of his legs into his ears, the alarm blasting through the galaxy, McCoy lost track of wherever Kirk was. McCoy himself knew where the shuttle was; he’d studied the area when they’d landed. He prayed Kirk had too. He would only find out when he arrived at the Brighton.

Soldiers began hissing and yelling in the distance. McCoy heard the start-up of an alien craft rumbling in the metal hanger it normally slept in. He ran faster than he had been before, hearing the shrieking alarm puncture his skin and wanting nothing more than to get away from it. He and Spock pounded their way forward, Spock slumping against him but running regardless, and somewhere under his fear McCoy was reminded of the sheer strength and determination of the man he supported. They ran until McCoy’s shoulder hit square on a familiar dilithium propeller, and the pain that normally would have accompanied such a thing instead invited an intense wash of relief.

“Oh, thank Christ,” McCoy breathed. He set Spock to lean against the starboard side of the shuttle, but Spock could not stand on his own. He quickly sank to the ground. McCoy hesitated for a moment, wanting to tend to him, to help him, but the shuttle was still idle and off and that could not remain so. He growled and found the digital pad by the door. He quickly looked around as he activated the pad.

“Jim!” he yelled over the shrieking alarm. “Jim, are you here?”

He heard shouts, but they weren’t from his captain. Klingon’s, shouting, but to McCoy’s horror they were not as distant as the alarm was; they sounded close. McCoy’s heart lurched into his throat.

“Jim!” he shrieked, his panic building.

A vehicle, barely 100 meters away, flicked it’s spotlight on and drove it across the field, searching. McCoy cursed again and entered the code and displayed his fingerprints, and soon the shuttle door hissed open. The buttons clicked to life and the efficient engine whirred awake. If the Klingon’s didn’t know where they were in the blackness before, they surely did now.

“JIM!” he screamed again, his lungs burning. He exhaled sharply and leaned over to grab Spock beneath the arms and hoisted him into the craft. The dense weight of the Vulcan normally would have proven difficult for McCoy to manage alone, but his adrenaline lifted and moved him without thought. As soon as Spock’s feet were past the door, McCoy spun around once more and took in a massive breath.

“I swear to God,” he muttered. “JIM! JIIIIM! WHERE THE F--”

“Shut the hell up, Bones! Someone’s gonna hear your shrill screams!”

“Oh, Jim! Oh, Christ, kid, you scared me to death!”

“I scared myself to death! I nearly missed it. Come on, let’s go, Bones.” He ushered the doctor in and hopped in himself, closing the door just as the spotlight shone directly on them.

“They’re in the damn field motors, Jim,” McCoy growled as he kneeled next to Spock.

“Just hold onto Spock, Bones,” commanded Kirk as he strapped himself into the driver’s seat. He flipped on several switches and the lights blinked to his command. “And hold onto something yourself.”

They heard shouts of madness and fury muffle through the shuttle’s walls. McCoy shook his head.

“They’re sounding mighty angry!”

“Well I’m pretty upset with them too,” Jim mumbled with the hint of a snarl. He pushed against the main lever and felt the shuttle rumble beneath him. “We’re getting out of here.”

McCoy heard the familiar hum of the shuttle as it lifted itself off the ground.  Several  _ plinks _ rattled on the door of the shuttle with the barrage of Klingon bullets. McCoy jumped harshly at the sound.

“Go, Jim, go go go!” he yelled over the hurricane of noise. Kirk pushed himself against the drive lever, input his commands, and the shuttle lurched forward. McCoy held Spock’s body down with his own, stopping him from being flung forward, and braced his feet against the back wall while his right arm griped the leg of the chair bolted into the floor. He kept his other arm ribboned around Spock. He tried to study the Vulcan’s breathing beneath him, to both keep his mind off the violent shakes of the shuttle and to prepare himself for the patient’s treatment. He was unconscious, but he was alive. His breathing was choppy, his respiratory system was challenged, but the fact remained that he was alive. McCoy felt a sigh of relief escape his throat despite their precarious situation.

“How is he?” yelled Kirk as he glanced over his shoulder. He swerved to avoid the blast one of the Klingon shuttle’s hurled towards them, and McCoy fastened himself down further at the movement. It took all his strength to keep them both on the floor of the shuttle.

“I’ll tell you when we aren’t bouncing around like ping pong balls!”

As if on cue, McCoy saw a Klingon craft swing into the shuttle’s view. It’s blasters glowed blue for a moment, building, and McCoy knew what was going to follow. He yelled at Kirk to evade the missiles just as Kirk whipped the Brighton sharply to the left, and suddenly the Brighton’s back was to the Klingon craft and the blast of the missiles lifted the back end of the Brighton upwards and sent the shuttle hurling up towards the planet’s stratosphere. Kirk took this advantage to advance the Brighton’s velocity, revving it up to escape the gravitational pull of the planet they so desperately wanted to leave, and soon the men on the shuttle felt nothing but the intense vibration of the shuttle piercing through the planet’s upper layers.

McCoy tried to shout something up to Jim; what it was, he himself wasn’t sure. He just wanted to reach him. He couldn’t even hear the sound of his own voice. It was lost, like it never existed. The shuttle rattled and rattled, the vibrations of its escape becoming the only noise that existed on their plane. He finally gave up trying to yell and buried himself on top of Spock. His hand felt numb from his grip on the chair. He held onto it as if it belonged to his very body. He and the shuttle were in a fight, their personal tectonic plates scraping against each other in war of whom would beat whom.

If McCoy released his intense hold between the back wall, the chair, the floor, and Spock, he and his patient would become loose canons.

Finally, the tackling tremors distilled and then vanished, and McCoy was left heaving for breath. He looked up as if he’d just escaped the drop of a bomb. He met the hazel eyes of Captain Kirk looking back at him, and he saw a wide grin blossom over the captain’s face. McCoy returned the expression with a scowl.

“What in God’s name are you smiling at?”

“Bones, we made it!”

“Not yet, we didn’t! They could be right on our tail!”

“They won’t leave the planet unattended to, they’ll send out, at most, two crafts of their own and our shuttles are quicker than theirs. We did it, you beautiful crazy man! We did it!”

McCoy pried his fingers off the leg of the chair and gathered himself shakily to his knees. His muscles felt like he’d just completed a marathon.

“We’re  _ one  _ craft, you bastard! I feel like my insides are made of oatmeal!”

“Bones…!” whispered Jim as he turned back in his chair to face the universe. “We went in there with zero odds. And we came back,  _ alive, with Spock.” _ McCoy watched him shake his head giddily. “We did it.”

McCoy didn’t feel his level of contagion, but he could not deny his gladness of the situation. He looked down at Spock, unconscious, and readied himself for the next battle.

Spock was still bleeding. He was incredibly weak, pale, and looked something like a hollow vessel. Fixing him up, at least enough to make him last until they reached the starbase, was going to be their last victory.

\---------

They reached a point where the danger of encroaching Klingon crafts was no more. Kirk put the shuttle on auto and climbed out from his seat, taking the few steps back to crouch besides McCoy and Spock.

“How’s he doing?” he asked. McCoy was attempting to clean the wound in Spock’s side. The doctor exhaled through his nose and offered the captain a quick glance.

“He’s holding steady, but this hole is substantial. I found a few slivers of debris shoved in the tissue of his linea alba, so I’m assuming he acquired this when he crash landed, but it was pretty obviously not taken care of. It should have clotted by now, but the wound was still bleeding when we found him; they likely used it to their advantage.”

Jim’s fists clenched together. McCoy was relying the information medically, but Kirk could not help but feel the impact of emotion it gave him.

“I can’t tell without my more advanced equipment,” continued the doctor. “But I’d guess that his cells aren’t regenerating the way they should be for a Vulcan.”

“What happened here?” asked Jim, moving forward to point to a shallow gash along Spock’s jaw line. McCoy shrugged.

“How am I supposed to know? Either from the crash or the Klingons. Fortunately, it’s mild and not my priority.”

Jim gnawed on the bottom of his lip, combing over Spock and McCoy’s gloved hands that were speckled with green. He motioned towards McCoy’s hands.

“How much blood has he lost?”

He was answered with a bitter laugh.

“Uh, a lot, Jim, I’m not gonna lie. It’s a lot. But, it’s not enough to have killed him,” he reasoned. “He’s incredibly weak. But he is alive. He made it to the shuttle, he’s not going anywhere.”

Jim looked up with a new glint of hope in his eyes.

“You mean he isn’t going to die?”

“As a medical man, I’m supposed to tell you that there’s a chance he might. But, as a man who knows Spock, I don’t really think that’s true. The green goblin made it this far; he booked it to this shuttle in some pretty awful shape. He wants to live.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“No. There isn’t even a ton I myself can do. I’m gonna try to thermally shut his wounds, bandage him up, and leave it be.”

“Before you called for me over the earpiece…” started Jim, his voice falling low. “I heard…” He stopped.

“Him screaming?” McCoy finished for him.

Kirk felt something uncomfortable tighten within him, and he nodded. McCoy didn’t meet his eyes, but continued to clean Spock’s side as he answered him.

“That’s the other thing. The Klingon’s were using a mind ripper on him. I don’t know how long, or how often, but right when I found him in that room, I was forced to hide. A Klingon had entered, the one you saw lying on the ground when you came in. He didn’t know I was there...he was trying to get information out of Spock. Probably a last-ditch attempt.” Kirk saw the muscles in McCoy’s jaw tense. “Seemed to be on a pretty high setting.”

Kirk looked over the doctor’s features, looking for something, but his medical mask was on tightly.

“You saved his life, Bones.”

“I should have intervened sooner.”

“Spock would not be on this ship, at least not breathing, if you hadn’t of intervened at all. You should tell him that, too, he’ll never be able to give you a hard time again,” he said, his joke tugging a corner of the doctor’s mouth upwards.

“I guess you’re right about that at least.”

Time continued to pass. The hole in Spock’s side was finally closed, but McCoy thought it would need to be reopened and operated on once they arrived at the Starbase. There was a lot of damage that he couldn’t reconstruct on the Brighton.

Jim hovered over the controls, checking the coordinates and speed. They were to arrive at the base in only a few solar hours time. Spock had stirred a few times, but never fully regained consciousness. A part of Kirk wanted him to wake before they arrived. He wanted to say a few things to him before they went their separate ways; Spock to the hospital, and Kirk and McCoy to the brig.

Not a particle of Kirk’s mind regretted their mission. Not even a hint of remorse was felt. He and his medical friend likely wouldn’t be sentenced to prison, but they would lose their jobs. They would likely pay a fine. A permanent sentencing would blemish their records. They’d go through a lengthy court martial, likely riddled with Admirals and people they’d worked with for years before. It would not be enjoyable, of course, but it was not remise.

Anything was worth the cost of Spock’s life.

But, about a solar hour out from the base, it seemed that Spock heard Kirk’s wish. He slowly opened his eyes, blinked a few times, and looked directly at McCoy’s hovering, smiling face.

“Well by golly, she’s awake,” he grinned. Kirk spun around and kneeled beside his friend.

“Spock! How do you feel?”

Spock’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion, and his eyes squinted against the light. Kirk heard a low groan emit from his throat. McCoy ran a tricorder over the length of his body and nodded in satisfaction.

“Doing well…” he commented to himself. He set it down and lightly tapped the side of Spock’s shoulder.

“Can you hear us, Spock?”

Spock clenched his eyes shut and lifted a hand to run over his forehead. He groaned again, but when he opened his eyes it seemed that they had regained some of their old clarity back.

“Yes,” he finally answered in a throaty voice. Both the humans smiled in answer.

“Well, you’re likely in some pain, I’m sorry to say,” offered McCoy as he clipped a small hypo into his shoulder. “I’m afraid the medication I have on me is good for nothing more than a headache.”

“Unfortunate,” deadpanned Spock as he attempted to sit up. Surprised by both his answer and action, McCoy stopped him with a hand to his shoulder.

“Uh, that’s not happening. You need to take it easy for a minute there, man.”

Spock inhaled deeply in mild frustration. He ran his hand over his forehead again. McCoy’s eyebrow peaked.

“Seems as though you do have a headache, Spock?”

“Something akin to that…” answered the laying Vulcan. His eyes were still shut. McCoy sighed.

“Well, that will probably last for awhile. How else do you feel?”

“Remarkably...feeble.”

“Pretty much to be expected,” agreed McCoy with a hint of impatience. “How else otherwise? Anything I should be concerned about?”

Spock opened his eyes and looked at him, locking gazes. McCoy raised his eyebrows again in question.

“We are on the Enterprise?” asked Spock. “No…” he continued right after, taking in his surroundings. “We seem not to be...”

“We’re on the Brighton, Spock,” corrected Kirk gently. Spock’s eyes flicked to his and Jim offered him a small smile.

“Jim,” said Spock as if he was just seeing him. Jim’s smile grew wider and he nodded.

“I’m here too, you know,” McCoy interjected. “And we got you off that Klingon base. You’re safe now.”

Spock nodded his understanding and shifted his limbs and neck, feeling his body and the condition it was in.

“I must admit my astonishment at being...alive,” he conceded. “I must also admit my astonishment at Starfleet’s willingness to compromise the safety of two of it’s most commendable officers. It’s almost...injudicious.”

“Starfleet wasn’t willing,” Kirk amended. “But that was irrelevant.”

Spock looked at him differently then. Something of a shadow crossed his face, and Kirk prepared himself for the conversation that was about to follow.

“What does that imply, Jim?” asked Spock with rigidity. “You did not…” He looked between Jim and McCoy. His face darkened further, a rare moment of expression filling his features.

“You did not steal a Federation shuttle and directly disobey not only Starfleet, but Federation orders.” He said this as a statement, almost like a dare. McCoy shrugged.

“I mean, are you really that surprised by it?”

“Surely,” added Jim, “you didn’t think I’d let you rot out there?”

Spock’s mouth was opened as he attempted to find the correct words.

“I expected you to search for me, yes…” tried Spock flatly. “However, at most, I expected you to...at most...request a leave of absence to do so.”

“The Klingon’s capture of you was a declaration of war, Spock. That, along with their admittance to destroying Lyro. They never would have let me leave.”

Spock was silent. Kirk tried to read his face, but it was again a stone wall. He said nothing for several minutes.

“You’ve obliterated your careers.”

McCoy and Kirk exchanged glances. They hadn’t talked about it with one another, but they equally understood the outcome regardless. They knew the moment that Spock had been taken, and they knew the moment they tricked that engineering officer to leave the hangar, what it meant to their futures. Jim blinked to look back at Spock and shook his head softly.

“Doesn’t matter,” he answered.


	24. The Circle of Civilizations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, guys! This is the last chapter. I had to finish it far sooner than I anticipated because I'll be traveling for the next several months with no reception.   
> I just want to thank you so much for your readership and lovely comments. You're all too kind.   
> This story went a different path than I intended it to, but that's because a) things happened in life that deterred me from habitual writing, and b) I'm moving for a while. I'm healthily aware that the story lacks a strong structure, and I am A-Okay with that! I just needed something to do and keep me busy. I really enjoyed writing this, even just for the fun of it, and I'm glad I got to share it with you guys. When life got hard, this was one of the few things that really have me some cheer. This community is amazing.  
> Thanks again for sticking with me. You're all the absolute best. LLAP, my friends <3

She stayed by his side the entire time.

If she were considered attached before, when patches of her fur were missing, or when she dashed to the turbolift in excitement, or when she diligently followed behind him as they secretly climbed into the Galileo while the Enterprise shuttered with attack, she could only now be considered inseparable.

It seemed as though she knew before the rest of the base did, when the Brighton entered the sphere of security surrounding the site. Sulu had been attempting to care for her during Spock’s absence, but she was not the same dog she’d been on the bridge. The was an air of sadness to her. It surprised Sulu, seeing her emotions so clearly - as if she were human herself. 

Then one day, she lifted herself from her corner by the window and stood to stare outside. Sulu regarded her curiously, but she began to prance and demanded to be taken out.

Before he stepped foot onto the grass, he received a message via his PADD.

They were back. They were entering security. Sulu hardly believed what he read, and something heavy lifted off his shoulders.

Sulu watched as the shuttle’s door, littered with dents of a battle, opened. Kirk stepped out, tired, but simultaneously awake. His face was hard, his eyes were alert, and he stood by the shuttle as McCoy and Spock stepped out beside him.

Kivuli immediately began to whine and pull on her leash, her nails digging into the ground, but Sulu did not move.

He was shocked at Spock’s appearance; rugged, a bit more thin, remarkably pale. Emerald blood lined his dirty uniform and was crusted over all three of the men. He was being supported by McCoy, but still he stumbled. Kirk reached forward to catch him while McCoy buckled his knees. He did not fall.

Kivuli, in a swift fluid motion, twisted her head and jumped backwards out of her collar, and she ran.

For a moment, Sulu feared she would jump on the Vulcan, but she did not. She circled around all three of them, her eyes up on Spock and her feet clipping in circles. She revolved around them as they walked to to the base’s hospital, almost as though she were orbiting the gravity of their presence.

In the days since then, she never left him.

It may have been alarming, once, to see her on a hospital bed with Commander Spock; now it strangely was not. The most unreadable, seemingly emotionless being Sulu had ever met had captured the attention of a being with the opposite qualities. And it seemed, he thought, she captured his as well.

Relief filled Sulu at the return of his officers. No one on the Enterprise dared say it, but a piece of all of them thought they would never see the three of them again. They feared their deaths, or not ever knowing what became of them at all.

Relief filled Sulu at their intact lives, but he could not help but be accompanied by a lurking shadow of foreboding. The knowledge of what soon would follow was in step behind his walk, slinking over the relief like a coat of paint.

So desperately, he wished the adventure could have ended with their return. He wished Spock could recover, and the ship would enjoy a much needed shore leave, and they’d all warm the Enterprise again with their occupation and they’d continue to the next planet to discover something exciting.

With dread, he knew this was only fantasy.

\-----------

“Let the record show; mandated debrief of Captain James Tiberius Kirk, who deserted his post along with Chief Medical Officer Leonard Horatio McCoy, in order to execute the unauthorized rescue of Commander Spock. Captain Kirk, do you understand the circumstances of your debrief?”

“I do.”

“You understand the recording of this debrief is in effect, and has the right to be used in a state of galactic law?”

“I do.”

“Okay. Let’s begin. Why did you desert your post as Captain of a starship?”

“You said it yourself, General. I wished to find and rescue Commander Spock from the fate of being a Klingon prisoner of war.”

“But Klingons don’t take prisoners. Why did you believe him to be alive?”

“The Klingons took him for a reason, and the reason wasn’t to simply kill him.”

“Well, then, what was the reason?”

“The Klingons unleashed a weapon that massacred the entire species of planet Lyro, a recently signed planet under the Federation. The weapon was a virus; a plague. It was somehow intertwined with the DNA of a Terran canine, and the canine was released to the planet. It had distinct and advanced qualities that were specialized to obliterate the people of Lyro, and those qualities were traceable.

When the Enterprise responded to the distress signal of Lyro, we beamed down to find only the dog to be alive. Unaware of its significance, we boarded the Enterprise to continue our investigation. The Klingons were not expecting us to do so, and sought after us to retrieve their weapon.

Aware of the situation before anyone else, Commander Spock saved the Enterprise and her crew by taking the dog with him onto a prototype warp shuttle and fled, taking the traceable qualities with him. The Klingons followed.

We found the shuttle, crashed, and without Spock. The dog was there, hidden in a pod. This led me to believe the Klingons were unaware of the dog’s location, and took Commander Spock in an attempt to find out. I knew he was alive, sir. I knew the Klingons had him, and I could not live with knowing I allowed him to die with them.”

“You understand the implications of what the Klingons have done, don’t you?”

“I do, yes.”

“And still you decided to abandon your post?”

“To assume inoperation of the Enterprise by effect of my desertion is to assume inadequacy of my crew, and that’s simply wrong. Every single one of my officers are capable of running that ship if needed, and my third in command, Lieutenant Commander Scott, is exceptionally so. I knew my absence would not deter the ship in succeeding in its duties, and it would still give me the opportunity to save the life of an exemplary Starfleet officer.”

“How did you find Commander Spock’s location?”

“He activated a radio-wave.”

“Why did the Klingons do this?”

“Do what, sir?”

“Why did they choose Lyro for this extinction?”

“Unclear, sir...perhaps because they were an easy target. As you know, in accordance with Lyrii customs, the people never leave their planet. They are unaware of much beyond their own atmosphere. Incredibly intelligent and wise, they are also arguably naive. It was unfair, what the Klingons did to them. Perhaps they relished that.”

“Why do this in the first place, Captain? Like us all, I am having trouble wrapping my head around this tragedy. Why would they do this? Why now? Why do it the way they did? If they wanted to send a message, couldn’t they have simply destroyed the planet?”

“...I am...still troubled by this too, General. I cannot speak for their strategy. But...being there, when the dead people of Lyro were discovered...well, it felt personal. Intimate, in a way. The people suffered. They were tortured. They killed each other -- their own families -- and their incredible minds went mad and it was their undoing. I imagine the Klingons did not expect us to find or take the dog, and their plan was to pick the dog up and drop it off at another Federation planet and keep that up until they obliterated as many civilizations as they could muster.”

“That’s savage, Captain.”

“You should have been there, General. It  _ was  _ savage.”

“You said you discovered Commander Spock’s location by a radio-wave...how did you penetrate the base?”

“The Klingons were on their sleep rotation, and due to the base’s nature of being within Klingon territory and it being rather small, it was not heavily guarded.”

“Did you encounter any Klingons during the rescue?”

“Yes. And he admitted Klingon fault.”

“He admitted that the Klingons were responsible of what happened to Lyro?”

“He demanded the location of the dog. He damned the Federation’s existence. He threatened the Federation and Starfleet’s demise. He swore by it.”

“Based off the conversation that’s just taken place...you are saying the Klingons are inherently, purposefully starting a war with us?”

“That is what I am saying, sir, yes.”

“Understand the gravity of your words.”

“I do.”

\---------------

“Thank you for seeing me, Admiral.”

“Of course, Captain. Please, sit.”

Kirk smiled up at Admiral Florence and gave her a curt nod, lowering himself into the armchair beside the small fireplace. She set a cup of tea on the table beside him and sat herself.

“How are doing, Captain?”

“I’m fine, Admiral...though I’m unsure if using the rank ‘captain’ would suffice any longer.”

“We haven’t even set a date for the hearing,  _ Captain. _ As of this moment, you are still Captain Kirk.”

“Well, thank you. But know I do not denounce the stripping of my rank.”

“I know, Kirk. You do not regret what you’ve done.”

“I really don’t.”

Florence gave him a smile. She did not seem upset, or angry, or disappointed. She was at ease.

“You may not be discharged, Captain. What you did was admirable, you understand that. You saved a life. You reached the mystery of the Lyro massacre.”

“I left my starship without a captain, and stole a shuttle with a man I asked to come with me. I do not regret what I’ve done, but I do not try and convince myself that it was right.”

“That may be true...but still, it was not wrong.”

“Regardless...I want to thank you, Admiral. You knew what I was going to do, you had the power to inform my crew and have me thrown in the brig. You had every right to do that. And you didn’t. Spock is alive because of you, and I cannot give you enough gratitude for that.”

“What will you do now, James Kirk? Should you no longer be in Starfleet, that is. We both know that no matter the outcome, you will not be sentenced to serve time. There would be an uprising, both civilian and uniformed. You’re incredibly well liked.”

This brushed a smile across Kirk’s face, and he looked down at the tea in his hands. He let the silence sit for a few moments.

“I’m not sure, Admiral. Starfleet has given me purpose. If my record does not taint future employment, I may find interest in teaching...though, if I’m being honest, nothing will really give me the satisfaction that Starfleet has. It’s, um...it’s been a fulfilling experience. If I’m to be discharged, my one regret will be not being able to defend this galactic program alongside my friends when war comes.”

Kirk waited for Florence to say something, but it was her turn to be silent. She was looking at the floor, her face laced with somber. Kirk felt a stone settle in his chest. She was, he knew, emotionally shredded by the yet to come war. Her entire career, her education, fought for peace. Wherever a debate was, whether it was broadcast or on the holo stations or between friends, her name always would come up. Her speeches, her essays, her research, all pulled for tranquility.

And all of that, everything she’d done, was now obsolete.

“There’s nothing you could have done to stop this, Admiral,” Kirk started softly. “Nothing at all. The Klingons...they don’t understand harmony. They breath violence. The Federation, and you, are not at fault.”

“I know, James. I know.”

He continued to look at her features, and though she spoke of understanding, the sadness on her face was evident.

She was an admiral of peace, but she was going to have to learn how to be the leader of a war.

\-----------

“How’s he doing, Bones?” asked Kirk as the two of them glazed down the hallway. McCoy, dressed in his medical tunic, gave him a look.

“Healthwise, he’s improving greatly.”

“Why do you say it like that?”

“Because I’m restraining myself from punching him in the face every other minute.”

This elicited a laugh from Kirk, and he nodded his head approvingly. The hospital was large and advanced, dwarfing the small bay on the Enterprise and making it look like a tent. They turned a corner and found their way to Spock’s door.

“So remember,” said McCoy. “He wasn’t able to fall into the Vulcan healing trance because of the condition his mind was in, and he’s still testing the waters of his mental abilities. It’s kind of a sore subject, if there ever was one with Spock, so try not to dwell on it too much.”

“You got it, Bones.”

“And uh, how did the uh, the debriefing go?”

“It went as expected. What about you?”

“I’ve somehow evaded it for now. I convinced them that Spock needed my care, since I’m the only doctor in Starfleet that’s familiar with his hybrid attentions. Turns out that actually benefits me for once,” he joked. He pushed open the door and allowed Kirk to walk in before following behind him.

A grin blossomed on Kirk’s face at the sight. Spock was sitting up, reading something on his PADD, with the dog curled up directly beside him. Kirk placed his hands behind his back and sauntered to his bed.

“Hey, Spock, how are you feeling?”

“Adequate, Captain,” he looked up. “Thank you. Have you been debriefed yet?” The emphasis was on the question. He was almost anxious, it seemed, to know the answer. Kirk chuckled.

“I have, yes. It was just a debrief of knowledge, Spock, there’s been no word on a hearing or sentencing. Besides, that’s not your worry. We need you to get better.”

“Doctor McCoy’s experience has proven very efficient, Captain, my health is no longer in a state of concern.”

“Oh, bullcrap!” McCoy corrected shortly. He stepped up beside Kirk. “You may not be in the danger zone anymore, but should I remind you of the walking exercise we had this morning?”

Spock looked away in mild annoyance, and were he human, possibly would have flushed. Kirk placed a hand on McCoy’s shoulder and pursed his lips. McCoy just rolled his eyes and turned to check Spock’s vitals on the monitor.

“Well, I’m just glad you’re alive and well, Mr. Spock. I’m sorry you had to go through what you went through.”

“Thank you, Captain, but it is unnecessary. The thanks is mine. Again, you and Doctor McCoy have proved your outstanding abilities as officers. I will be testifying at whatever trial the two of you may face.”

The look in his eyes was hard. There was a level of guilt in them. Kivuli lifted her head and placed it on Spock’s hand.

“It’s alright, Spock. If anything happens to us, we embrace it. We knew what we were getting into. I think,” he looked back at McCoy and they exchanged a look, “I think I speak for us both when I say that we were OK with this the moment we decided to leave. Please don’t trouble yourself with this.”

“Jim…” Kirk saw a subtle battle flit across Spock’s face. “The removal of your positions in Starfleet is something I do not desire.” Spock’s eyes flicked up to McCoy. “I do not wish to serve on the Enterprise under a different Captain, or have a different physician perform any medical exams. I will do what I can to deter that outcome.”

“That sounded somethin’ like sentiment, Spock,” McCoy prodded with a smirk. “Better be careful.”

“Bones,” chastised Kirk.

“I’m going to relish making his life as annoying as possible as long as I can.”

“Now,  _ that _ , Bones, was sentimental.”

McCoy rolled his eyes.

Jim roamed his eyes over the dog, then. She was content, comfortable curled up like that. He’d been told by Sulu that when they first arrived, she’d been confiscated to the quarantine zone and several veterinarians and scientists worked to locate the virus, and eventually evict it from her bloodstream. Apparently, she was distraught. It saddened Kirk to think about it, but he knew it was necessary.

She was free of the virus, and now Spock was too. She was no longer a weapon of the Klingons, and Spock was no longer a prisoner of them.

But all of them, Spock, Kivuli, the Enterprise, Florence, and every man woman and child on a Federation planet, was an enemy.

Kirk decided to let those thoughts float away. He imagined them swirling together and falling down into the sink a few feet behind him, drowning away and smothering themselves into nothing.

He let himself feel the comfort of the room; of the two men he trusted his life with. The familiarity of harmless bickering, and the unmatchable presence a dog offers. The first battle was over, and for a moment, he pretended that it was the only battle they’d have to fight for their lives over.

He let himself enjoy the sunlight streaming through the window. He enjoyed standing there with his friends. He forgot about the war creeping behind them.

Because, no matter how much he enjoyed that minute, which would turn into an hour and then a day...no matter how the trial goes, or the court martial, or if Spock ever regains his Vulcan abilities or if Kivuli ends up following him forever,

War was upon them. No matter what was arguable or fluid, that was not.

He allowed himself to feel comfort now, because soon, it would not be there.

He accepted that. So, he felt it now while he could. And then...then they’d fight for the right to live in a galaxy of peace and exploration, and knowledge and philosophy, because no one has the right to take that away.

No one.


End file.
